


Third Act

by fadeverb



Series: Kai and Mannie [5]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadeverb/pseuds/fadeverb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kai wants to get back to work, and Lightning has a job available. Inevitably, complications ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Wheels Spin

Nomikos is the one who finally comes to tell me what's happening to my Role, and I wouldn't have expected it to be him; he's part of a triad, and has plenty of other things to do. He finds me playing with Wind relievers up above the trees, and while they scatter, says, "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Always!" I spin around him and settle down to the ground beneath the branches, where two Warriors give Nomikos disgusted looks and stalk off in another direction. I've never understood why they're still holding a grudge about that trial, but then, I've never understood most of Heavenly politics. You'd think people could get over these things. "Sorry I haven't been by to see you all lately, I've been, well, kinda trying to work things out." Like what I'm going to do now, and that's a question I haven't been able to answer, even with help from people smarter than I am. "How are Adala and Dedan?"

"Adjusting," Nomikos says. He sits cross-legged on the grass, leaning back against the enormous tree trunk, and I roll in circles around the trunk while he talks. "Dedan is back on Earth working with another triad, Adala was, last I heard, assigned to certain tasks involving filing, and I am...here."

"Dedan's with a different triad? Why?" I rotate in front of him. "What happened?"

"Judgment business," Nomikos reminds me. "He'll be fine."

"Oh. Well. I'm glad everyone's okay." I was surprised when of all the people who showed up in that raid no one from my triad was there, but rescue operations aren't their job. They have a lot of people to take care of. I wonder what it's like when they talk with other people, especially other Creationers, but it's not something I can ask them about. I bet I could ask other Creationers what happens when Judges come by, which isn't cheating the system, just working around it from a different angle. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"Your Role back on Earth."

I've been trying not to think about that. There's nothing I can _do_ from here, and most of the people I'd try to talk to about this sort of thing are back on Earth, or working for other Superiors now and busy with stuff that...isn't the Boss's work. Most of them he put there himself, so I'm sure it's all right and proper, but it means their priorities are different. "What's happening with that?"

"Certain people...worked things out. With some help from the Flowers Tether near you, and other Servitors of Eli who could spare the time. The story they've prepared is this: Kai Dawnson, assistant ballet teacher, was not involved in any inappropriate behavior, but was set up by the culprit to take the blame. He was shot to keep him out of the way, and cast suspicion on him; the culprit then coerced various children into blaming the missing teacher. When the murderer realized he was about to be discovered, he killed himself rather than face the charges. The board is helping the patrons of the community center recover from the affair, and while there will be setbacks, it will not have to close. In another year or so, if you found a Role and vessel for the purpose, you could probably return and restart the dance program."

I orbit the tree a few times, trying to absorb this. That Role is dead and gone now, no chance of picking it up again, but I was sure that would happen. All those kids thinking I'm _dead_... but at least the center won't be closing, and they won't think I was...doing what the demons had them saying I was. "So who ended up taking all the blame?"

"An Impudite of Fate. It seemed appropriate." Nomikos smiles in a way that reminds me he is a Malakite, and prepared to deal with demons head-on, no matter how much of his time he spends asking polite questions of angels.

"Huh. Anyone I knew?" I don't like the idea of a demon sniffing around in my territory without my having noticed.

"Mm. Chair of the board."

" _Him_?" All my flames flare out around me. "That...that..." I can't come up with a word that properly represents what I want to say, though I bet if I asked Mannie he'd have suggestions. "I didn't even _notice_ , I am such an idiot, he was there for years and--"

"Kai." Nomikos stands up and puts a hand to the top of my ring. "You can't be expected to recognize every demon that crosses your path, especially one as subtle as that. He's been taken care of, and we received useful information from finding him."

He walks through the Groves, and I roll alongside him, finding in my memories all the little things that should have told me what that demon was, every clue I missed. "I wish Dedan and Adala were here. I'm used to throwing my current dilemmas at you three, and it was always nice to find out what you thought about it. Now I'm just...wandering. Like I don't know where I'm supposed to be heading."

"You could give your service to another Superior," Nomikos says. "Many others of Creation have done so. It's a way to continue serving the cause of Heaven."

"Maybe," but I don't think I could. How would I be ready for whatever the Boss wanted me to do if I had other responsibilities? I can't picture myself with any other Superior than my own. Flowers wouldn't like me hitting anyone, even demons who need the hitting, and the Wind is fun to ride with but they never stop moving long enough to help a place grow, and... I don't know. I need to talk to someone who knows more. "You'll let me know if anything else happens, with my old Role?"

"I'll make sure you're informed, yes."

"Thank you." I'm off again, up above the trees to play with the Windies until I'm feeling more like myself again.

These days it's weird to be myself. I got so used to being Kai Dawson, and then the grandchild named in honor of the same, that I hardly know what to do with myself when I'm just Kai, Ofanite of Creation, wandering through Heaven. Not that everyone here has a job to do, but most people have some sort of direction, or places they hang out with their friends. Most of my friends are back on Earth, doing the jobs they were given. So what am I supposed to do here? I've been corporeal-side ever since I fledged, aside from, what, three times in Trauma, and I like it down there. Heaven is beautiful, but it's always beautiful, and what I love about down there is finding inside something broken and staggering those moments where the broken is still beautiful.

All the sky stretching above me, and I could race someone to as high as we could fly, never reaching an end, but...I don't want to. It's ordinary for an Ofanite to be restless, but my insides itch like I need to be somewhere else, so, somewhere else. Swoop down over the Glade and roll past a party, friends celebrating in a corner over something that makes sense to them. Back in the 1960s, the Flower Tether used to have barbecues every month, and I'd swing by, taking Jack along when he was in town. The Seneschal still holds parties there sometimes, but it's been years since I attended, always some class to teach or whatever else it was that took up my time.

I'm bored. I'm moping. It's time to find a friend to cheer me up, and I know who I can find without ever worrying if he's gone down to Earth.

Laugh, and Heaven laughs with you. Spin, and find the place you meant to go. The Halls of Progress are a straight line from where I am, and I take that line there. Fast and straight until the corridors turn, and it's a pity they won't turn for me so that I can keep going straight, but I can turn a corner with the best of them. Mannie's door is usually open, and today is no exception. I zip in, whirl around him to make sure he notices I'm here; if I just move inside, he could stare at his notes for minutes without realizing I've come in. "What's up?"

"Afternoon, Kai. Schematics." He taps a finger on the paper rolled out in front of him, close-up pictures of symbols I can't decipher. The corners of the pictures show bits of fingers, like someone was in a real hurry to get the images onto whatever storage medium Lighting is using for its photographs these days.

"What do they mean?" None of the symbols make any sense to me, or even look like wiring diagrams I've seen .

"I couldn't tell you; it's classified. And, ah, I don't know. Yet. That's what we're trying to work out." All his desk is covered in the pictures, some blurrier than others. "We're working on partial information, which makes this more complicated. It doesn't help that whoever wrote up the original specs was using a personal shorthand; while I can decipher most of it, I...can't pick it out as well as I once could." He shifts in his chair, the way he does whenever he's reminded of losing that Force. "What brings you by?"

"I'm bored." I spin around him and check underneath his chair, which is cleverly designed and would probably do interesting things if I poked at the levers down there, but he wouldn't appreciate that. "Want to get coffee?"

"I've had two cups in the last hour, and if I drink any more I'll start bouncing off the walls." He switches the positions of two pictures on his desk. I wonder what he sees, when he looks at those things. "You could try cooking something."

"I tried that yesterday, and got asked to stop. You'd think that another Creationer would understand." I like being in his office. My Heart is here, and Mannie's here, and in the back corner of the desk is something my Boss made. It's as much home as anything is, these days. "Do you know when you'll have a break, next?"

"I don't know, Kai. I need to finish working on this first, and it's been going...slowly." He glares at the pictures, as if this will make them cooperate. "I'll come find you when I have some time to talk."

"Okay. See you then." Spin backwards out of his office, it's the same as forwards in this form. I roll on down the corridors back outside, up into the sky, and spin off to the Savannah to fly with the birds.

I miss having a motorcycle. I miss teaching ballet classes, showing kids the steps and helping them through until they could do it themselves. I miss having a telephone with a cord that could twist itself into a knot. I miss late nights doing stage preparation for the recitals, the shows that come onto the TV at three in the morning, Jack bringing a bunch of Windies by to crash in the apartment for two days and drag me off on weird chores in the middle of the night. I miss the sports car Mannie brought me, that I turned over to the triad to dispose of when they drove me back home. I wonder if they kept it, and if I could have it, when I get back to Earth? I liked that car, and it was the first time anyone brought me a car as a present.

I need to find a way back to Earth before I go batty here.

Mannie has a favorite coffee shop, and I haven't gotten around to trying enough to establish my own favorites yet, so I spin by his to see if anything interesting is happening there. Two Elohim debating some weird bit of theology, a Mercurian discreetly making out with a Kyriotate in a corner booth, and a whole cluster of blessed souls whispering to each other and wearing the faintly boggled look most of the new arrivals have. One of them points to me as I go by, and her friend pulls the arm back down. It's cute to see them learning about angels for the first time; I remember when I was a zippy reliever playing Count The Choirs with my friends. I kept coming up with the wrong number, but then, I wasn't really good at math at the time, and I mixed up Malakim and Mercurians.

The Seraph behind the counter has a cup of coffee waiting for me. "Hello, Kai. How has your day been?" 

Good coffee, strong coffee, just what I needed. "I'm bored. Don't suppose you have anything for me to do?"

"Nothing that I would ask you to do, no," he says. "But thanks."

"Okay." Caffeine hit is just what I need, a buzz to give me some motivation. I leave the cup behind and roll outside to try to think.

"Kai?" A reliever so small it must be brand-new wings its way over to me.

"Hey, kid. What can I do for you?" I've seen this one around before, mostly running errands for Mannie.

"Oh! No, no, what can I do for you?" It zips through my ring, then flutters back to the center to stare at the insides of my rim. "I brought Mannie coffee twice, and now I don't know what to do."

"You and me both, kid." I roll along towards the Glade, slowly enough that it can keep up, fluttering along in the center of me. "So what's your name?"

"Maharang. I got it special from him, because he said he wasn't using it anymore." That sounds like a reasonable way for a reliever to get a name; at least this one isn't naming itself after desserts, like that one bunch I used to play with when I was younger. I think Mango Custard got her name changed when she fledged Malakite; said it didn't fit anymore, and I can't blame her for that. Of course, it might have come in useful if she'd ever introduced herself to demons before smacking them. Lots of time to act while they were howling with laughter, right? "How did you get your name?"

"Me? I chose this name because I liked the sound of it. Snappy enough that it doesn't take too long to say." 

It nods very seriously, and takes a perch on a low tree branch, where it can look at me--well, not eye to eye, not in this form, but towards the top of my wheel. "How did you decide what you wanted to be, when you fledged?"

Cute kid. I spin around the branch, wrap a coil around the reliever, and settle back down into my usual ring. "I figured it out by the time I hit about seven Forces, so I was sure by the time I fledged. Movement was my thing, and I never wanted to look inside people the way other types do. Elohim and Mercurians and Seraphim and Malakim... Well, I don't think I want to know what other people are like that up close and personal. But I like knowing where I'm going. Besides, it meant I could win all the races with my friends." It's listening very carefully, like it thinks I'm a teacher, but I'm just another angel in Heaven. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I want to be a Bright Lilim," it says, a bit of defiance to its voice, like it thinks I'm going to tell it no.

"Huh. Unusual choice. Why do you want to be one of those?"

"Because I want to know things. Like Mannie does."

"Not a bad role model to choose, but you don't have to be like him to know stuff." I roll around the trunk of the tree, find pictures in the bark, places where someone's guided the growth of the tree until every twist in the grain is its own tiny image. "I'm not sure if you can be a Bright Lilim; making Lilim seems to be a secret that only one person has ever figured out. But, hey, what do I know? Maybe you'll manage it."

"You really think so?" It leaves the branch to rest on top of me, balancing even with my movement.

"I don't know for sure. I don't even know if anyone's ever tried to fledge as a Bright Lilim before. I think there would be a lot more of them if relievers could. But I don't know enough to say that it can't happen, so I won't." I drop horizontal, leaving Maharang to flutter in the air. "Hey, want to play tag?"

"Okay!" And while the kid's a bit small, it's already got some good zip. If the Bright Lilim idea doesn't work out, it could have a great career ahead of it as an Ofanite.


	2. In Which Pragmatic Decisions Are Made

Three months ago, I could have translated this shorthand well enough to pull as much sense out of it as there was to get, and come up with a hypothesis as to what the person who wrote it was aiming at. Right now I'm having trouble getting more than sentence fragments and cryptic references out of the mass, and not for the first time, I wish I'd lost a different type of Force. I'm not physically adept, down on the corporeal plane; a bit more weakness there wouldn't make much of a difference. I wonder if having bits of my mind ripped out was God's way of reminding me I should have used my skills differently before, the theological equivalent of a firm "No!" and smack on the nose with a rolled up newspaper.

Zif tells me that the ways of God are mysterious, and I shouldn't attribute this sort of thing to divine disapproval. After all, she points out, when I'm being obstinate, I wouldn't have made it through redemption at all if I weren't meant to be here. This is not always comforting, but Zif only goes for comfort if she thinks it's appropriate. Sometimes I do need a slap across the nose.

In any case, it's time to give up on these notes, send along what I've deciphered, and let someone else take a crack at it. There are other former Vapulans working for Lightning, though none as recent as I am. I'm told that every few months several of them get together to commiserate, to better appreciate what they work on now, and alleviate the occasional impulse to declare that this would all work so much better if we could just _show_ people everything. I'm not sure I'll attend any, given the possibility of running into someone I knew.

I've taught the scanner they gave me to understand my shorthand, so it's simple enough to bundle up my notes and send them off to Gariel. Zif makes occasional comments about how I should get over my dislike of computers, but I can't help it, they don't _feel_ right. I'm the last person to cling to outdated technology, but even with a tablet and stylus, it doesn't feel the same as making my notes on paper. Clicking between windows isn't at all like sorting pages until the idea clicks. I'm not fond of the security problems rife in computers, at that. Lose a page of notes, and if you can get the paper back before someone has finds a photocopier, you're safe. It only takes a few seconds with a good connection to grab data from a computer and copy it to a thousand places, then decrypt the information at your leisure. So long as I can get away with it, I'm sticking to paper.

Little bat-brained Maharang has been gone for a few hours now, likely distracted with other tasks. It would disappear right when I could use another cup of coffee. 

On second thought, seeing how many empty mugs are sitting on my desk, maybe I should cut back on the caffeine. Spending a few weeks with an Ofanite does leave one with certain habits.

My laptop chimes, a message already. "Meeting in five minutes." Direct as always. I collect my notes, notebook, and phone, and take the leisurely route.

Gariel's waiting in the conference room by his office with two other angels who have been working on this project, and a blessed soul. The human woman has a hard face, and is built more like a boxer than a scientist. Interesting. I take my usual seat, nod to the Mercurian and Elohite. The Mercurian nods back, and returns to reading a copy of my notes.

At precisely five minutes after the moment that email arrived in my inbox, Gariel blinks four of six eyes, and opens up his folder. "Mannie?"

"What I've deciphered, I sent on. I don't have enough context to interpret what I'm reading, and that doesn't help with the translation." I'd like to say more about what I did manage to piece out, but they're all sitting here with that in front of them. No reason to belabor the point.

"Knew that Media was in on it," says the soul, with a half shrug. "Don't know on what angle, or how that helps."

"Marketing." Shouldn't this be obvious? "You always want Media on your side when--look. If it's a piece of technology no one intends to release publicly, it can stay in-house. If it's something that only small groups will be using, again, no need to contact anyone else. But any technology that you want to have used by the public, you need Media in on it to start the hype early, present it in a favorable light, make sure people _want_ it and are going to accept its introduction. I mean, take a look at the introduction of the computer in Desk Set, they had to pull out Katherine Hepburn to push that one--" They're all staring at me. "So, ah, this would suggest we're talking about something they plan on releasing."

"Media's not much of a direction to work from," the Mercurian says. She wrinkles her nose, flipping through my notes. "I'd rather get to the root of the problem. We know where they are--"

"Where they were," says the soul. "Like they're going to stick around long after the through-the-window and down fifteen stories in the middle of the day? Even if they played it as a suicide, don't think they'd hang around to see if my friends were going to show. No reason to do more than a sweep for loose ends."

"True," says Gariel. He shifts his coils, but lets us continue; he's one of the most hands-off managers I've ever met. The last meeting we held, he spoke exactly seven words, including "Good morning."

"Do we know what sort of connections to Media were being formed? If we can investigate from that end, we may discover enough to trace back to the roots, or at least to hamper this project." Nosha has told me that, as an Elohite, it maintains a neutral tone to avoid distressing those who expect nothing else from his Choir, and thus perpetuates the stereotype in public. In meetings it doesn't bother, and right now it sounds intensely curious. "Gloria, did you have a chance to find out any more of that before you were found out? There is a world of difference between a piece of Vapulan technology that will be introduced through the media, and a piece of Vapulan technology which will be _part_ of the media."

"Passed on the one point of contact I found," says the soul. Another one-shouldered shrug. "Would have investigated if not for dying. When can I get back down there?"

"We don't have enough information," says the Mercurian. "We don't even know what _type_ of technology we're dealing with here. From what we've managed to decipher," and it seems to me she's rather hasty in using "we" to describe something I did, "this could be anything from, from a new mind-control implant to a better speakers system. How are we supposed to work with this?"

Gariel's wings rise slightly, and fall again. "Efficiently," he says.

"If the Media angle is all we have, that's what we can deal with," says Nosha. "The odds are good that the two groups will contact each other periodically, and observing how the one reacts may give us clues to the nature of the other. Typically, Media has been easy to infiltrate compared to other organizations."

"Do we even have anyone to spare to hang out with some, um." The Mercurian pauses. "What _is_ the Media name we got doing, anyway?"

Nosha taps at its laptop. "The name we have is attached to a small marketing research company, specializing in online advertising."

"Right. So do we even have anyone to spare to hang out around some guy who spends his time finding out how many middle-aged men with at least one kid and an income over fifty grand a year clicked through a given ad? Resources aren't so free that we can waste someone on _that_ dead end." Her feathers are going ruffled, and I'm suddenly glad that my wings hide themselves when they're not needed. I have a hard enough time keeping my standard body language saying what I want without worrying about a new set of parts to keep composed. 

"Send a, what's it called, reliever. One of those," the human says. "Smart enough to do basic surveillance, right?"

"I believe we'll need something better than basic surveillance, and it's inadvisable to put an unfledged angel into a position such as this," Nosha says. "But the note about limited resources is valid." It clicks about on its laptop for a moment. "Mannie, your friend, Kai. The Ofanite. Has it taken up service under any other Archangel?"

I'm not sure I like where this is going. "No, not as of when I last spoke with him." Not that I haven't tried to convince him to join up with Lightning. It would be easier to talk with him if I didn't have to edit out half of every conversation for details I'm not supposed to pass on to angels not of Lightning. "He's quite resolute about remaining in the service of Creation."

"It's done work for Lightning in the past," Nosha says thoughtfully. "Minor assistance on multiple occasions, one notable project that had more to do with Creation than Lightning but came to our attention first, and on two occasions directly assisted nearby Sparkies." It pushes the laptop away, and smiles at me from across the table. "How do you believe it would respond to an offer of a vessel and Role in exchange for doing a finite job for Lightning, and being willing to assist us again in the future?"

"I would feel like we were taking advantage of an angel who's desperate to return to Earth." It's not betrayal to give Kai that offer, but I feel strange at the thought of putting him into danger. Demons willing to shove a prying human out of a window to get her out of the way are unlikely to leave a discovered angel in peace.

"We might be taking advantage of its wishes, yes. But what I asked was how the Ofanite would respond to such an offer." Nosha tucks away its smile. "The assignment is unlikely to be dangerous. It would solve two problems neatly."

"Ah. Well." The Mercurian has already begun to fidget, doodling wiring diagrams in the margins of the report. If none of them see anything wrong with this, why should I? They've had much longer to learn the right way to conduct a mission of the Host. "If the idea were presented properly, he'd likely agree."

Nosha turns to our supervisor. Gariel inclines his head. "Approved."

"In that case," says the Elohite, a little too cheerfully for my taste, "you ought to be the one to ask Kai about it, Mannie. Does anyone else have any objections?"

The Mercurian and soul shake their heads. "Would rather go back myself," says Gloria.

Gariel glides out of his coils. "Next meeting: when new information arrives," and that's as much dismissal as he ever gives.

Nosha follows me back to my office, its smooth Elohite mask back on. "I did not intend to upset you," it says, once inside. "Do you believe my suggestion is in error?"

"If I thought you were wrong, I would have said so." No email from Gariel, and his office is directly adjacent to the conference room; no new tasks until I take care of the current one. This organization is so bloody efficient I could scream, sometimes.

"That is what I would have expected. But you remain distressed, and I do not understand why, given the data presented."

"You're not my Cherub, Nosha."

"Quite right," says the Elohite. "I apologize if I overstepped my bounds as a coworker." It nods to me, and exits the office.

I compose an email to Zif, and after finishing, leave it sitting in my pending folder. Ever since the incident on Earth, she's been--not so much clingy as cautious. I'll not give her more reasons to worry until I've thought the matter through, and only ask her if I can't decipher my emotions. Life used to be less complicated, at least regarding my own feelings. On the other hand, life used to involve a great deal more worry about being stabbed in the back by my coworkers, so it seems an even trade.

Maharang would be happy to find anyone I sent it after, but the reliever isn't back in my office. I seldom have any need to spend Essence here, not with so few reasons to leave my office. I drop two into the Song of Affinity, and...there. A tug against the only Geas hook I hold on any angel, these days. I take my notebook with me.

Kai spins up in the treetops of the Grove, the first place I would have looked. I worry, sometimes, that he'll decide he wants to be back on Earth so much that he'll join up with the Wind, and zoom away with Jack and Kelly. The Wind doesn't spend much time being...safe. Not their style. If he's working for Lightning I'll have a chance of knowing where he is.

"Hey, Mannie," Kai says, and whirls about me in a spiral of flame. The reliever who's been chasing him through the branches turns out to be Maharang, giggling with delight. Maybe it will end up fledging Ofanite, and leave off its habit of staring up at me with wide eyes asking why it can't be a Bright Lilim. "Want to play tag?"

"Not right now, Kai. Do you have a few minutes to talk?" That's mere formality; if he'd found something to call on his time I would have heard of it.

"Always." He spins for a moment, then darts off. "Over here is good!"

The trees of the Grove are ordinary trees like any others, except for when they decide not to be. The crossing of branches that Kai swings down to form a private nook and still provide a clear view of whatever passes by the tree. These things should stop surprising me. My first three years in Tartarus I had to find my way around with a map, and even that wasn't enough to keep me from running into dead ends and unpleasant discoveries every few weeks. Kai spins with a tree branch through his center, and Maharang sits inside, watching intently.

"So what's up? Did you finish off that project you were working on? I was thinking of heading out across the Savannah for a while, see what I can see out there. Might find a few cheetahs that want to race. I wonder how fast they can go here in Heaven?"

"Actually, I have something for you to do, if you're interested." I'm giving him something he wants, and as Nosha says, it's for the good of all involved. I should not feel so much like I'm manipulating him.

He stops mid-spin, and begins to rotate in the other direction. "Really? What can I help you with?"

"We need someone to do a short period of surveillance down on Earth, but we're short-staffed at the moment. It's in the same country where you were stationed, so you have enough experience to drop into a Role quickly."

"Wow. That's..." His ring begins to spin in two different directions at once. Ofanim don't display the same sort of body language the more human-looking Choirs do, but I know enough to read stress in that. "Mannie, I appreciate the offer, but... It's just... the Boss gave me a job, and I can't go working for someone else just because he's not around to help me get back to it."

"Relax, Kai. You've told me that, and I haven't forgotten." I may wish he'd be more reasonable about the matter, but I haven't forgotten. "It's only a single job for us, and then you can use the vessel and Role to get back to what you need to be doing."

"And Lightning would hope I'd be receptive to helping them out again in the future?" He's settled down into only one direction of spin again.

"I'm told you've helped them before. It wouldn't be so different from that." He hasn't said yes, though he's close to it. "If you're trying to do what your Archangel asked, it'll be easier if you have a vessel to work with."

Kai's flames toss sparks into the air. "You're right. I'm not doing anybody any good moping around up here." He swings up off the branch to orbit me. "When can I start?"

"Come back to the office with me, and we'll work out the details."

"This is great. I've been so _bored_ , and now I finally get to do something. Do you know if I get to jump any demons? I mean, not to be all ambitious about prospective violence, but I wouldn't mind if that happened to be some of the job." He goes into a typical babble, moves ahead and around me as we fly back to the Halls of Progress.

I need to send that email to Zif when I get back. If I'm doing the right thing, why do I feel so guilty about this?


	3. In Which The Corporeal Is Mundane

Riding a Lightning Tether down to Earth is different from taking a Creation Tether. Less of the feeling of a hug wrapped around me, more spark to my toes. And I _have_ toes again, and feet, and hands, and all sorts of human-type bits that come with a standard vessel. "Cool. What's my name now?"

The Mercurian who's accompanied me is named Teresa, and I don't think she's much impressed with me. It's probably because I'm not as smart as someone working for Lightning is supposed to be, which I regret, but it's not something I can do an awful lot about. Her vessel has a long white lab coat and a clipboard. I bet I could do all sorts of interesting things with a clipboard if they gave me one. "Your Role's name is Megan Moore," she says, and hands me a sheet of paper. "All the important information is there. Memorize it, because you can't go carrying this around."

"Okay, okay." I pace around the room and read. So I'm an only child, always handy. Associate's degree from a no-name college in a town I've never heard of, in...liberal arts. "You couldn't have given me a drama major or something?"

"Too specialized. This Role wasn't being built for anyone in particular, but for use if suddenly needed." She taps a pen on her clipboard. "Are you done?"

At least I seem to have gotten good grades. "It says I have a boyfriend who's a mechanic, back home. Who's that?"

"That's an excuse for you to call us with updates every night, which becomes all the more important if you believe at any point that your other means of reporting in have become compromised." She hands me a little blue cell phone. "All of the numbers you'll want to use are programmed in. The phone can also record up to a week of sound, and you can take pictures or video with it as needed. Plug it into any computer that's hooked up to the internet, and it'll upload all the stored data to us. But try not to do it through a modem, if you can help it. We can only do so much with data compression."

"Spiffy." I drop that into--hey, I have pockets. The jeans I'm wearing are just a touch on the baggy side, and looking down, I can see that my shirt is tie-dyed. Perfect. I glance inside the shirt. "Hey, I'm female. Neat! I've never had a female vessel before. Except--oh, wait, yeah, I did, that one time. But that one only lasted two years, so I mostly forgot what sex it was." I bounce on my toes, and then do a pirouette. The weight distribution is different enough that I'd better practice moving a bit before I try to do anything fancy.

"I was _told_ that you had extensive experience with a Role." Her tone has gone all sharp around the edges, like Mannie when he's trying to deal with a problem that won't let itself be immediately solved.

"Yeah, decades." I can do hand-stands in this vessel just fine, once I work out how to adjust for weird proportions. "So how am I doing this surveillance stuff?"

"You're being contracted by a temp agency as an administrative assistant for the company we're investigating. It's a small company, so you should be able to snoop around. To begin with, we just want you to feed us raw data as you find it. Once we have a better idea of what we're looking for there, we can direct your searches more precisely." She pulls me back to my feet. "You _can_ perform the duties necessary for an administrative assistant, correct?"

"Oh, sure. So long as they aren't too picky about their coffee." The paper has an address where I'm living, so it sounds like there's an apartment set up for me. "When do I start the new job?"

"Tomorrow morning. You'll have tonight to settle into your apartment. None of your neighbors know you, as you've just moved into the city to pursue your dreams, or at least to get some distance from your parents, so they won't be surprised by any change in your personality. Anyone who we need to send by in person will play the part of a friend from college, or a close relative. Do you have any questions?"

"Sure. What do I drive?"

The way she smiles doesn't make me feel hopeful at all. "I'll show you to your car in the garage."

They gave me a Daewoo.

"How do you like it?" She's laughing at me. She's not even bothering to _hide_ that she's laughing at me.

"It's a Daewoo. They stopped making cars _years_ ago. You can't get parts for these things, half the mechanics I call won't have even heard of them! Does it even _run_?"

"Yes, though three of the windows don't work, and you can't open the back left door." She pulls the driver's side door open for me. "Remember, Megan, you're a starving recent graduate, trying to get by on temp jobs in a new city. What did you expect, a sports car?"

"I would have preferred a _scooter_. And it's white. White!" The car's engine sounds less than happy when I turn it on. "I'd rather take the bus."

"Look on the bright side," says Teresa. "No one is ever going to suspect you're an Ofanite." She slams the door shut. "Good luck. Report in as soon as you get back from your first day at work."

The car makes it from the Tether to the city where I live now without falling apart, though it starts whining whenever I hit 70 on the highway. A car with a built-in speed limit, just what I need. I need to get Mannie out to visit me as soon as possible, and ask him to make this piece of junk work properly. And a white car. How much more boring can you get? Of course, a white car is like a blank piece of paper; dull, but full of potential. I'm not much for freehanding anything fancy, but with some straight lines to work with and some planning ahead of time, I bet I could come up with some great designs to personalize things a bit. Do the bottom third in stylized grass and the top two thirds in zebra stripes or leopard spots, maybe.

My apartment is less bland than the car. Drawers full of T-shirts and jeans, not much hanging in the closet, more sandals than shoes. Sandals have their place, but I prefer something easier to run in; I'll have to stop by a store and pick up something with good rubber soles. There's a fire extinguisher under the counter in the kitchen, and in the bedroom in the middle of the bed sits another tiny fire extinguisher with a notecard on it. The card reads:

_I told them you'd need one to take to work. Try not to set anyone on fire. Unless they're a demon, in which case, go for it. Mannie._

He can be so considerate. I won't say it's his most endearing trait, because it's not something he thinks of much, but when he remembers it's awfully sweet. I pack that in my bag to take to work tomorrow, along with a box of paperclips and a cue ball. I have no idea why there's a cue ball sitting on the dresser in the room, but it has a nice easy heft to it, and would go easily into the center of someone's forehead.

There's a full-length mirror on the closet door, so I take a few minutes to go over the new vessel. Definitely female, secondary sexual characteristics and all, and they even gave me long hair. Too long, the sort that will get in the way if I ever want to move _quickly_ , so I dig out a pair of scissors from a bathroom drawer, and attack my hair until it's a reasonable length. Short, a little jagged, easy to take care of. Exactly the way I like it.

A tinny version of Ride of the Valkyries starts playing: my cell phone. I fish it out of the pocket it's been riding in, and flip it open. "K--Hi, it's Megan!"

"How's the apartment?" That's Mannie's voice, and I jump onto the bed to start bouncing during the call.

"It's bigger than my last one. The mattress doesn't have good springs, though, which is a pity, because I can't get any real height on it. And, hey, how can you call this long distance?"

"I work for Lightning, Kai. We get all the good toys. Apparently I'll be playing the part of your, ah, boyfriend during these calls, on the off chance that anyone starts trying to keep _you_ under surveillance. Unlikely, but Nosha can get paranoid when it comes to security."

"You _do_ get the cool stuff." The bed's not being any fun, so I drop back down to the ground to find the best pacing patterns for the apartment. They don't seem to have given me a TV, but there's a cute little white laptop sitting on the desk. The apartment's pretty much kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom off to the side, garage beneath. I need to find a couch. It's not that I use couches much, but I've learned that any time people are going to stop by unexpectedly, you need a couch. "So tomorrow's me in a brand new job. I hope they're not too picky about the work I do; it would be embarrassing if they fired me before I could figure anything out."

"Don't worry about it. We're pursuing other areas for more information, and expect to find more from those than from anything you'll have access to. You're providing a fallback position in case we can't discover what we need elsewhere. It should be a safe and rather boring little job."

"I hope not. I'd rather get a chance to help out." My cupboards are full of packaged junk, so I pull out the trash can to ditch it all. Definitely need to hit a grocery store, and stock up on real food. The refrigerator has half a jug of fake fruit juice, leftovers in styrofoam, and a bottle of mustard. I can't cook anything with ingredients like this; creativity has its limits. "Do you have much in the way of specs on the people I'm working for? All I got was an address and name of the company."

"Nothing very specific, I'm afraid. We believe that at least one person there is a demon, but it's possible we're looking at Hellsworn, or human dupes. If you can figure out more that will be useful."

"I'll do what I can." I couldn't even tell when the chair of the board was an Impudite, and that still smarts, that he'd be there twisting people's fates for years without me noticing. But this time I know to look for something, to watch for the clues like the ones I missed. 

This apartment stands so empty with only me pacing through it. "Don't suppose you have an hour or two to talk?"

"I'm sorry, but not right now. I need to get back to work." He sounds genuinely apologetic, which should make me feel better, but doesn't. "Maybe later?"

"Okay. I'll catch you later." Snap goes the phone shut, and that's it on that conversation.

I don't know who else to call at this time of night. After driving around for weeks and then spending time in Heaven, I'd forgotten how lonely an apartment can get in the middle of the night when the humans with day jobs are asleep. Jack doesn't have a cell phone, Mannie's busy, the one Seraph who springs to mind doesn't do idle phone conversation, and... I don't know anyone here yet.

It's just a temporary job. Soon enough I'll be back at the community center, an ambitious kid just out of college eager to help with a project that means something. It'll be weird to see the kids and not be able to tell them it's okay, I'm still around, nothing bad happened to me--well, nothing permanent--but I can manage, and I'll see them again. I just need to work through this job first.


	4. In Which An Ofanite Makes Assorted New Friends

The night drags on, for all that I read through several dozen recipes that use mustard, construct a miniature city out of empty snack boxes and toothpicks, and plot out how I'm going to repaint my car. At seven in the morning I start up the damn car, swing by a convenience store for a plausible semblance of a packed lunch, and track down my job.

Street parking, which would be dreadful if it weren't me; I find a parking space two blocks away, and tromp over to the appropriate building, take the elevator up to the thirteenth floor. They've labeled it the fourteenth, another one of those weird human superstitions; giving it a different number doesn't make it a different number of stories up in the air. Are they only afraid of the number itself, and not items that add up to that many? Symbols do have power in the right hands.

The company's name is written across the door: Cadence, Inc. Generic enough that they could do anything under that name, though I've been told it's marketing research. I push open the door and step inside. "Morning!"

It looks like it's one of those little two-room setups that wealthier freelancers have; one waiting room with a desk, couch, counter with a sink and coffee maker, and then a door to the inner office. Everything is done in generic beige, complete with a mass-produced watercolor of trees over a pond on one wall. There's no window in this part of the office, though I bet there's a big one along the back of the second room. Only the boss gets to look outside; office workers get to be happy staring at off-white walls all day.

The inner door opens, and the person that steps out is exactly what I'd expect from someone of Media. Carefully casual dress shirt without a tie, a winning smile, precisely-tousled hair frozen with various products into its supposedly carefree position, all the tags I've learned to read as moderately young adult male, position of authority, confident. 

I offer a hand. "I'm Megan Moore, from the temp agency."

"So glad you're here," he says, and puts one hand on my shoulder to lead me over to what's going to be my desk. This vessel is almost the same height as my last one, which is useful, because it would be more of a pain to deal with different body proportions if I had to cope with seeing the world from a different angle on top of that. "I'm Chad Reid, president of the, hah, company. You can call me Chad. They said you could answer phones--"

"I'm great with phones. Who do you want me to pass through immediately, who gets a message and a brush-off, and who should I check with you about before deciding either way?" I sit down in my new chair, and spin it around. It has wheels! Cool. I can't roll far on the rug, but chairs with wheels are superior to chairs without wheels. Basic principle of furniture you can sit on.

"I have a list," he says, and he's suddenly more relaxed, like he's been dealing with people who didn't get that you don't pass everyone on immediately. I know that much just from dealing with the chair of the board's secretary; she was a master of brushing off people he didn't want to speak to. "At the moment I'm working on a _major_ contract, so most of the important calls will be coming from people I've already made explicit on that list."

"Understood." I spin the chair around again. "Oh, hey, an intercom button. Those are fun. So, filing, phones, other duties as assigned, what do you want me to start on?"

"Can you make coffee?"

I packed the fire extinguisher Mannie gave me, but I don't think setting the office on fire would be the best start to my new job. "Not very well. I'm more of a consumer than a creator when it comes to that beverage. I can give it a shot if you'd like."

"No, that's fine." He has an easy, infectious laugh, enough to make me grin back at him even knowing what he probably is. "Everyone has some flaw, and if not making coffee is yours, I'll be more than satisfied."

Over the course of the morning I get the computer at my desk set up with more appropriate desktop themes, rearrange everything in the drawers so that the items that make better projectiles are nearer my reach, and sort through every scrap of paper on my desk for clues. Most of what I can find is ordinary stuff like rent for the office, receipts for business lunches, office supply order forms. The phone rings twice, both times telemarketers; the second one I chat with for a while before turning down, and she sounds grateful for a chance to depart from the script. I hope that wasn't one of the calls she gets monitored on. Telemarketing is a dreadful job, and she'd be better off finding something else to do if she can. It's hard to see anyone hitting their destiny in the midst of calling strangers to ask if they want to upgrade their cable package.

At noon Chad emerges from his office again, a little swagger to his stride. Now here's someone who's sure he's on the fast track to success. "Hey, babe," he says, "want to do lunch? The machine can handle any calls for an hour or so, and if you're going to be working for me, I ought to get to know you better." His hand rests lightly on my shoulder while he talks. Impudite, or lecherous Hellsworn. (Or Balseraph? But I'm sure Habbies don't talk like this.) I want to get to know him better too, if for different reasons.

"Sure thing. Where did you have in mind?"

"There's an Italian place near here," he says, and all the way downstairs and out to his car, he's standing close to me, or not really accidentally brushing up against me. He drives a little red sports car, and my feet itch to see it.

"Nice car," I say. My Daewoo is pathetic next to that. Of course, my Daewoo is pathetic next to a Vespa, so this isn't saying much.

"Got this one after I finished up my last big contract," Chad says, and he holds the passenger-side door open for me. I don't think he's going to let me drive, and more's the pity, because I bet I could do some great acceleration even on city streets. "If my current contract goes well, and I know that it will, I might upgrade to something better. You like sports cars?"

"I like _fast_ cars." The sun's hitting the bright slant of early autumn, and I'd love to go driving in this car for hours, days, drive through all the hours of the day or chase the sunrise from one coast to the other. I'd want someone along for conversation, and I know exactly who I'd choose. "Maybe you can let me drive sometime."

"You can handle a stick?" When he starts the engine the car purrs like a well-pleased Cherub. 

"Better than an automatic." Feeling the car move is a relief from being stuck in that little room for so many hours, though I'd like it better if I were driving.

He's right about the Italian place not being far; we could've walked in the time it takes to get through traffic and hand the car over to a valet. The inside's too dim for my tastes, but the menu suggests great things ahead. I order the sampler plate; he orders the lasagna. I've heard that lasagna is a real trick to make properly, so I'd probably better master basic cooking before I try that. I can't see how it would be all that hard. 

On the other hand, I've managed to set my stove on fire trying to make tea, so maybe I'm not one to speak about relative difficulty in cooking. I'm told that I have the record for the most times any angel has ever accidentally set a member of a Judgment triad on fire. Since I've only done it twice, I have to wonder how many people I was competing with.

"So what brings you to the city?" Chad asks, between drinks and lunch. The place is so full I have to wonder that we got seats immediately.

"Graduated, wanted to do something with my life," I say. "I can't stick around home forever, no matter how comfortable it is. Too boring, and I want to feel like I'm out doing something."

"I understand, Megs. Everyone has to get out and sow a few wild oats. Anyone waiting for you back home?" He has a pleasant voice, like the less irritating sort of radio announcer, not quite as good as the people who introduce the music on the classical station. Very like the voice that the chair of the board used when speaking to prospective donors, or to staff balking at his newest policy changes.

"Got a boyfriend, yeah. He's a mechanic." I can only assume that detail of this Role was made up in order to justify how my car is still functioning. I wonder if I could trade it in for a few bucks towards a motorcycle? Maybe once I've finished the job here and move on, I can ask Jack for a loan. I'd ask him for a bike, but I'd rather not worry about my transportation coming up as stolen the next time I get stopped for speeding. "He lives back home, near my dad's place."

"Long-distance relationships can be difficult, sometimes. I hope that goes well for you." I bet you do, you slimy bastard. He sounds sincere. It's a handy trick to have.

"So what about you? Lived here long, just started up the company, or what?" I use two forks to make little woven designs in the noodles before biting through the pasta. "I mean, all the agency told me was that you needed someone to answer phones and do clerical work, nothing specific."

"I do marketing research, for various other companies. Not the big focus groups that the larger companies do, but data-crunching and, well, good ideas, if I do say so myself. One project at a time, so that I can give it the focus that it needs." Which means that if he is connected to whatever the hell Mannie's trying to figure out, all of the work Chad is doing will be focused on that project.

"So what's the current client wanting?" Not that I'll get a straight answer, but I'd like to see what direction he takes for lying about it. A Balseraph will slide around the truth while an Impudite will flat-out lie.

"Can't give the details, Megs." Ordinarily I'd be all for a nickname that was faster to say, but I don't like it coming from him. "NDAs all over the place, lots of sensitive information. But let me tell you this, it's going to revolutionize marketing when it comes through."

Revolutionize marketing. Not a revolutionary ad campaign for whatever this bit of tech is, but...revolutionize marketing. I file that phrase away to pass on later, and tell stories about my college life based on the gossip I got from other assistant teachers at the community center, until he decides to head back to the office.

He spends the rest of the day in the office, only stepping out when five o'clock rolls around and I'm ready to run. "I'll have more for you to do tomorrow," he says, a little smile to imply sympathy with an influx of actual work. I've done nothing but sort the desk's drawers and answer phones today; even the Daewoo is going to be a welcome change. "See you in the morning?"

"Sure thing. You're not heading home?"

"Big project, lots to do... I usually work late. You know how it goes. Work hard, play hard. Best way to live."

I return his smile. "See you tomorrow, Chad."

Stepping out of there is like climbing into a refueled car. The lobby's floors are slick enough to let me skid all the way across after a running start, and then it's two blocks of pedestrian-dodging to the pathetic little car I've been given. I try to make the best of what I have, but sometimes it's a real _challenge_.

Traffic's another mess, and not worth fighting through to the grocery store. I'll hit it later tonight when things have calmed down. So it's straight home for another evening of, um, not much at all. I have _got_ to find a park near here or something. And I thought Heaven could get boring.

Half an hour later, right when I'm in the middle of trying to construct a model of the leaning tower of Pisa with the boxes I didn't use on the cityscape, there's a knock on the door. Three people standing outside looking official, and I know exactly what that means. "Hey, glad you guys finally made it here. Have a--wait, I don't have a couch yet, so I can't offer you a seat, but one of you can use a desk chair?" The tall man in front must be the Seraph, and I'd guess the stockier man behind him as the Cherub, from the way he stands. I can't place the third one, a short woman with an exceptionally nondescript face. "Anyone want something to drink? I haven't had a chance to hit the grocery store yet, but I have some sort of juice-like substance in the fridge--"

"We don't need anything to drink," says the Seraph, sharply. "Please compose yourself so that we can move through this process efficiently."

"Sure!" They're not so cheerful to see me, but my last triad was pretty grouchy the first time we met, too. I guess being Judgment-like at people gets trying after a while. Standing is boring, so I work out a nice little three-loop pacing system to keep moving without getting far from either of them. Seraph, Cherub, unknown, Cherub, Seraph... It's a good pattern. The Seraph is the one who chooses to take the desk chair. "So what can I help you with today?" I wish they'd give me names, it's awfully impersonal to conduct an interview without them, but Judges get annoyed if you start asking them for information they haven't decided to give out yet.

"You've recently returned to Earth duty after a time in Heaven," says the Cherub, "and we note that you managed to do so _without_ turning to the service of another Archangel. This does not speak well of your commitment towards furthering the cause of the Host."

"It's not like I can just run off and join up with another Superior," I say, and I don't like the way he refers to the Boss. It's probably a test, they're really fond of tests and prodding to see if someone's too willing to snarl back at them. I guess it's a necessary part of their investigating repertoire, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. "He gave me a job, and I'm getting back to it as soon as I can."

"We know full well how Servitors of Eli tend to conduct themselves," says the third member of the triad, with a disgusted tone that makes me inclined to believe she's not Elohite. "And have you found yourself spending excessive time on the pleasures of the flesh?"

"I am pretty fond of ice cream," I say, and search my memory for any other indulgences of late. I don't think most of what I do at work counts as pleasure, whether of the flesh or anything else, and it's expected that I like to move fast, so they're not going to care about my plans to upgrade my car's engine once I get Mannie out to take a look at it. "And I'm not really happy with my current car. I'm thinking of repainting it, and getting some sort of seat cover. So I'm maybe more attached to material possessions than I ought to be. Is that something I should be working on?"

"That's...not quite what I had in mind," says the woman slowly. "But you should...perhaps not be too concerned with food outside of what your Role requires. You would not want to aid the cause of Gluttony, in any of its meanings."

The Boss never had a problem with appreciating good food. I mean, he's come up with some great ideas on his own, and half the Creationers I've met can cook like you wouldn't believe. But it is Judgment's job to make sure angels don't get tangled up in Earthly desires, among other things, so I can't hold that comment against them. "I'll try to remember that."

The Seraph coughs. "I believe that what she meant was to ask after your interactions with humans."

"Well, I try to be polite and friendly, so far as I can manage, though it's a pain sometimes if people get unreasonable. And when traffic is awful I try hard not to get annoyed at the people around me, because it's not their fault that everything's stuck, or at least not entirely. Do you know if there's a Demon of Traffic Jams, or something along those lines? Because if so I'd think that taking that one would be a priority for _someone_ , maybe Janus. Of course, since Windies cause traffic jams as often as they dodge them with their particular pranks, maybe it's not such a pressing issue as I'd think."

There's a brief silence. I complete another three-angel orbit. "Kai," says the Cherub finally, "have you been having sex with anyone?"

"No. Do you think I should be? I realize that it's an aspect of my Boss's Word that some other Servitors emphasize more than I do. Never got around to it myself, but it's true that as long as he's got his big plan to work on, I need to be more careful about sticking close to what he wants, since he's not right nearby to correct me if I start wandering off in another direction. So I could start trying that, if you think it's a good idea. I mean, it is a basic Rite and all that, so it's probably something I should have looked into earlier, but in my previous Role it never came up, you know how that goes. Which reminds me, I do want to let you all know that I appreciate how you take the time out to come by and check up on me. I think I usually do a pretty good job of sticking to what I ought to be doing, but it's helpful to have someone around asking questions so that I have to think about it, right?"

The Seraph says, in a voice that's weirdly hesitant for his Choir, "Eli's...big plan?"

"Yeah. You know. Whatever it is that has him outside of Heaven for so long. I mean, it's not like he's going to let me in on it, but it's pretty important if it's keeping him busy for this many years. I just hope that when it finishes up, he'll be able to tell me about it, because it's got to be something _incredible_ at this rate."

The three of them are silent a little longer. Not the chattiest triad I've ever run into. "I wasn't _recommending_ that you start having sex with anyone," says the Cherub faintly.

"Oh. Okay. I wasn't planning on it. But it's good to leave your options open, right?"

"And do you find yourself enjoying the options present on the corporeal plane?" This from the third member of the triad. The Seraph has covered his face with his hands for no reason I can identify. Maybe he's had an unusually long day?

"Of course. The Boss helped make it, and it's a nice piece of work. I love this place. That's why we work so hard to fight the Horde, right? To take care of Earth, and to let it get back to the way it was supposed to be, without demonic interference."

"I believe...that continuing this line of questioning would not be productive," says the Seraph. His face is still in his hands. "We will return at a later date to speak with you further."

"Sure thing. Sorry I couldn't be of more help. And if you let me know when you're showing up next time, I can try to have tea ready by then, or coffee, if you'd prefer that, though I'm not very good at making it." The Seraph stands up to head to the door. "Is there anything I could help you out with? Because, I mean, I'm not exactly an Elohite, but you seem kinda stressed."

"No," says the Cherub, the last one out the door. "Thank you."

Triads are always a little weird, especially the first time they meet a person. I guess it takes everyone time to warm up. Nice guys, though, and doing a hard job that I know I couldn't manage gracefully. I ought to make them cookies or something the next time they're by.

Which reminds me to call in with what little news I've acquired. Hunting through my phone's address book (and thank God they included an instruction manual, or I'd be poking at buttons forever), I find a listing for "Mikey". Sparkies have a weird sense of humor. Since the bed isn't suited for bouncing, I plan out an area to pace through, and I'm well on my way by the time the phone picks up on the other end.

"Good evening, Kai. How did your first day of work go?"

"Dull as dirt. I'm glad this job isn't supposed to last long. Do you know if many receptionists end up going on shooting sprees? And, hey, maybe that explains the thing with postal workers, they're doing clerical work all day long for busy people and--no, I guess that wouldn't explain it, but it was a good theory. How's it going on your end?"

"It progresses," he says, which means they're not getting anywhere as fast as he'd like but he's trying to avoid saying anything snide about the speed of other people. Working out what Mannie means by what he doesn't say is almost as much fun as listening to what he does say. "Have you found out anything useful?"

"A whole lot of nothing, not that I expected much on day one. Oh, except! Something this Chad guy said over lunch, that might be relevant, assuming he's not just making things up to sound impressive. He said that this was going to revolutionize marketing. Not revolutionize some other industry, or be a revolutionary marketing campaign, but...yeah. So, do you think that's important?"

"Ah. Difficult to say. But I'll make a note of it in case it becomes relevant." I can just make out the scratching of his pen on paper through the phone's speakers, and it's a little weird to think that I'm actually listening to sounds from Heaven. You'd think that it would fail to translate, somehow become nothing but music... But it's just a pen, and Mannie speaking ordinary English. "If matters improve, you shouldn't need to stay there long."

"I hope not. They gave me a Daewoo, Mannie. The company doesn't even make cars anymore! I can't believe my car won't go over seventy. I don't suppose you could stop by and take a look at the engine, see if you can't crank a little more power out of this thing?"

"I'd be happy to help, but it's been decided that I shouldn't spend any time on the corporeal unless absolutely necessary, for, ah, security reasons."

"Oh. Okay." This apartment is too small to move in properly, and too big to walk around in by myself. I need someone else to talk to, or at least to pace around. "Good luck on the work, then."

"Thank you." And...that's it. Short conversation, directly to the point, nothing more than what would be expected for reporting in little more than zilch.

I thought he liked talking to me.

It must be the weirdness of being back on Earth, in a different vessel and in a job I don't like, that makes me sensitive like this. I'm not a Mercurian to get all worked up about how people are interacting with each other. I've done my duty for the night, it's time to go see what I can do as far as promoting my Boss's Word goes. Time to find a park.

The neighborhood's not set up for pedestrian traffic, but the park's close enough that it's faster to walk there than to coax the car out of my garage spot. There's a duck pond with no ducks, benches, playground equipment so safe there's not much playing to do there. No one in the park but an old lady sitting on a bench with a newspaper, and she gives me an evil glare for walking by; not the best prospect for conversation.

I'm halfway ready to call it a night and go looking for an ice cream store instead when I catch the distant edge of a very small chime of disturbance. If it's an angel, I can say hello, and if it's a demon, I can probably get away with discreetly pummeling it. A win-win situation!

I follow the tingle in the Symphony down to the back edge of the park, to where a chain-link fence surrounds an empty lot full of chest-high weeds. The sky's gone from sunset to darkening blue. I keep my head down and my feet quiet, moving in. Sharp dry weed-tops poke at my face; I'm still having some trouble remembering where all of myself is located, in this body.

Whispering. I crouch down to move closer, my eyes adjusting to the evening light until I can make my way through the overgrowth without slapping myself in the face too often.

At the back of the lot, up against an old wooden privacy fence, an unpainted shack sits with the door an open black mouth. In front of the doorway a child crouches, and another one in near it. Between them a dog roams on the end of a tightly-held leash.

"You'll remember me," says the child in the doorway. "And you won't tell. Cross your heart and hope to die."

"Stick a needle in my eye," finishes the other child, a little girl with tangled brown hair. She's the one holding the dog's leash. "You're sure he'll be okay?"

"If you don't tell, and make sure not to step on any cracks in the sidewalk all the way back home. But if you mess up, he'll get sick again. You want that?"

"No. Mom says if he gets sick again he goes to the shelter." The girl leaps to her feet. "I'll remember, and I promise, and I won't step on any cracks."

"Not one?"

"Not one." And with that she darts off in-between the weeds the way small children can, her dog loping beside her.

The child at the shack stands up and looks around, eyes glowing green in the darkness. No human kid, this one. It clicks its teeth together, pointed little teeth, and says, "Who's out there?"

Well, if it wants introductions... I spring forward and pin it to the ground. "Hi, kid. Let's talk."

Wide green eyes, with cat-like pupils. It snarls up at me. "Let me go, or I'll magic you away. I can do it."

"No, I don't think so. If you had a better Song than the one you used on that dog, you'd have already used it." It squirms beneath me, but no wonder it took on a child's form, it's barely stronger than one. "Do you want to tell me what you are, or should I start trying to figure it out?"

It finally stops squirming beneath me, and glares upward. "Does it matter? You'll kill this body, either way."

"Don't be so dramatic." I stand up and haul it to its feet. "How about a name? It's hard to have a polite conversation without a name. You can call me Megan, if you'd like."

"That's your name?"

"Close enough to it."

The child-thing nods slowly, and stops struggling against my grip, though it stands tensed for flight. "The children call me Cat," it says. "It's as much a name as yours."

"And what do you do here, Cat?"

"Heal things. Little magic." Its ears twitch, in a way no human child's would. "What do you care? I'm doing no harm."

"And the Essence you pull from them--"

"They give it up. A fair trade. A touch of worship for me, something they wanted. I fix their pets. I make the bruises they don't want anyone to see fade faster. Very fair." It licks its lips. "I can give you things, you know. If that's what you want. Teach you my little magics. I only want to live here in peace. Or tell you secrets? They come and tell me secrets, sometimes, so that someone will know. Little secrets, but you might want them?"

"You're just a little dreamling, aren't you?" I let go of the not-kid. "Who thought you up?"

"A child near here. Years ago. She dreamed that a god of cats would come down and heal her pet. In the dream, I was that god's daughter." Cat shifts from foot to foot as it talks, but knows better than to try to run for it when I'm standing so close. "I wandered among dreams for a time, and then I came down, but by then the cat was years dead, and the child had grown, moved away. So I heal other things. Is it so wrong that they should give me something in return?"

The little ethereal is trying to give me a pathetic kitty-eyed stare. I have to grant that it's cute. And it's not like a little bit of healing hurts anyone. I kill its vessel now, it'll come back with a new one, and might not be so friendly. "Okay, Cat, listen up. I'm going to let you go, but you can't run around ready to betray everyone to save your skin, understood? Stick to beneficial stuff, and I won't worry about you. Won't promise to hide you if anyone important comes looking, but I'll argue your case if you're staying good."

Cat nods quickly. "I'll stay in here. I _like_ it here. This place is...very nice."

A dilapidated shack in an empty lot, a cat-eyed child hiding in the weeds. I suppose everyone has their own definition of Heaven. "Good. And try to keep the noise down, okay? There are other people to hear you."

It tilts its head at me, and twists one finger in its hair. Without those inhuman eyes and teeth, I could take it for one of the kids I used to teach ballet. "If you're a demon, why aren't you asking for payment? And if you're an angel, why aren't you trying to kill me? Are you one of the taking-demons, the kind that always takes tenfold repaid for every debt they're owed?"

"I'm no Lilim, dreamling. But I won't give you a hard time if you're doing something helpful. Don't count on anyone else to give you the same break."

Cat nods, and pulls its fingers out of its hair. "I will remember this. And I will owe you a favor for my life, though I can't pay it tenfold." It smiles at me, jagged little teeth strangely adorable. "And to show you I'm speaking the truth, I'll give you a small gift, so that you may avoid the cracks in the sidewalk on the way home."

All the way back to my apartment, I can see perfectly in the dark. I take care not to step on any cracks.


	5. An Intermission With Judgment

Adala found herself nose to nose with another Seraph in the middle of a long stretch of filing. "We need to talk," said the other Seraph.

She evaluated this statement. The words carried the implication that it was urgent for the speaker, but not necessarily the person being spoken to. She could fathom nothing more of the truth of the sentence than that the other person believed this to be true, information of little use when speaking to a Seraph in Heaven. "If you believe this is the case," she said, "then I will be willing to speak with you, once I have finished with this filing."

The second Seraph coiled restlessly while several folders were labeled and put into order. "Very well," said Adala. "What did you wish to discuss?"

"My name is Zephan," said the one who had interrupted her, still coiling restlessly about. The constant movement irritated Adala, but she chose not to mention this. "I was some months ago assigned to a triad, and have conducted myself as best I could since. I have examined those truths, lies, and misconceptions brought before me to determine the deepest truths I could in the words. I have judged as fairly as my wisdom allows, with the aid of my partners in this triad. My questions, examinations, and all my procedures have followed those guidelines and rules laid out for me. My reports have been thorough."

Adala suppressed a sigh. She too had once been this obsessive with performing duties as assigned, with no variation from form, when she had first begun to lead her triad. It was to this one's credit that he still believed he ought to do so, but it did not speak well of his confidence that he felt obliged to justify his own actions. "Was there something that you wished to speak about that pertains to me?"

"You had to deal with that one before. How did you _manage_?" All the feathers in Zephan's wings fluffed up as he said it, and he spun his head around to begin grooming them back into place.

"Which...what?"

"Kai. An Ofanite of Creation. She opened the door and said she was pleased to see us, and she was telling the truth. She said that we were there for her good, and believed this." Zephan moved as restlessly as a reliever asked to wait in silence. "When we questioned her about those sins which Creationers so often fall into, she misunderstood our questions! At one point the Ofanite seemed to believe we were suggested taking _up_ more of those sins!"

"Oh," said Adala, in a soothing tone, "Kai is like that. You'll become more used to it over time if you interact with him frequently."

"And she's convinced that Eli is doing God's work down on Earth, in some grand master plan! And all I could tell was that dreadful ineffable fuzz! I cannot determine what to put in my report. All of the standard questions would have nonsense answers if I wrote down what was said. We didn't even reach half of our scheduled questions." Zephan shuddered in his coils. "How did you deal with such an angel for _decades_?"

"Incorrectly, I am led to believe," Adala said. "Perhaps you will avoid those same mistakes. Perhaps you will not."

"She makes my head hurt when she's telling the _truth_ ," Zephan said, plaintively. "I didn't think they were supposed to be able to do that."

"One learns many things during time spent in a triad," Adala said. "Some of them even useful." She returned to her filing. After moment, she said, without looking back at the other Seraph, "I would recommend strong painkillers. And do not, under any circumstances, accept any offers of food."

"She tries to poison Judges?"

"No. Kai attempts to be hospitable and friendly. The Ofanite is simply poorly suited to the task of cooking. Try not to arrive near mealtimes." She labeled another file properly, and could hear that Zephan was moving towards the door. "Tell me, is Kai...well?"

"She did not seem distressed, or injured," said Zephan, pausing. "Was there some reason you wanted to know?"

Because she did not wish to speak the truth, Adala remained silent until she was alone again.


	6. In Which I Discuss Guilt

Zif must be unusually busy. I expected her to appear shortly after I sent the email, but she's only now appeared in my doorway. She shuts the door behind her, ever the soul of tact.

"You feel guilty."

"You're sure you're not an Elohite?"

"The day you meet an Elohite with hooves, I would like to hear of it," she says. I like her a little better in this form than when she's in her vessel; there's something relaxing about that serene horsey face that isn't there in her counselor-mode mask when she's looking human. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I wouldn't have sent the message otherwise." I wonder if all Cherubim provide therapy sessions for their attuned, or if most only provide bodyguard services. I'm lucky to have a Cherub who does both. What did I ever do to deserve someone like her?

"But you might have changed your mind in the meantime. I see this isn't the case." One ear flicks at me. "And it would seem that this particular reaction hasn't sprung from the usual causes."

"Not this time, no." I have my bouts of self-doubt and guilt, wondering how I've come to be an angel after the things I've done. The worst one recently when I found out what the demons had told Kai while they were holding him... But this isn't that sort of guilt. "Tell me, should I feel guilty for doing the right thing?"

"The right thing? That's a subjective phrase. People often do what they believe is best based on limited information, filling in the rest with guesswork. Sometimes it turns out to be the wrong thing."

"You're not really helping, here."

Zif snorts. "I am not trying to comfort you, Mannie. I am pointing out the truth."

I spread my hands. "I don't know if I've done the right thing, and I feel guilty because I believe I may be wrong... And yet, I've made the best decision I can, based on the data available to me. What am I supposed to do?"

She only looks at me. Of late Zif has become more fond of letting me answer my own questions. 

"Adapt?" I offer, not sure if it's the right answer. As if she were a teacher calling me out, and I wanted a pat on the head.

"That's one way to deal with it."

"So I, ah, adjust my responses based on new information as it arrives, and changing circumstances. I _know_ this, Zif. But why do I feel like I betrayed a friend when I solved a personnel problem, gave him what he wanted, and never once lied to him about what was involved?"

Zif taps a hoof on the carpet. "Can a Balseraph tell the truth?"

"What--yes. A Balseraph can tell the truth. They believe they're _always_ telling the truth..."

"And while telling the truth, can they convince others of it?"

"Certainly. As easily as they could if they were lying--oh." That would explain the queasy feeling that's been sitting in my stomach all day, and why I felt so strange when Kai called. "I spent centuries in Hell learning to manipulate people into doing what I wanted them to do. So when I employ the same skills to convince a friend to do something which is a favor for me, even if what I ask is reasonable, it feels...wrong."

Zif nods, but doesn't speak. Very well.

"And what does that mean now? Do I try to be less convincing when asking my friends to help me with something? Or do I get over the guilt reflex?"

"A skill is only that," Zif says. "A skill. Nothing more. Some are difficult, or even impossible, to use for good purposes, but they are only...skills. Experience, learning, talent, one's own abilities."

"You haven't answered my question," I say.

"No," says Zif. "I suppose I haven't." She trots over to my desk and peers at my notes. "How does this project progress?"

"Miserably. I've spent hours on these photographs, and I'm not getting any more out of them than before. Without any more information, I have no context to help me. I don't even know who it is that wrote these up."

"Does it make a difference?"

"Does it--of course it makes a difference." I push the photographs away, a pointless gesture, but I'm sick of looking at them. "Anyone who works for Vapula for long develops an individual style of making notes. Work with someone for long enough, and no matter how closely they guard their own notes, anyone with half a brain _will_ start to pick up on certain characteristics. But one demon's subtle allusions to an equation referred to earlier is another one's periodic table." There's a fresh cup of coffee waiting when I reach for it; Maharang must have been in earlier before Zif came in, and left again without disturbing me. "No context beyond these partial notes means I could spend days on them and never pull out more than what I've discovered already."

Zif nods, slowly. "I haven't been specifically following this, but...did anyone see any of the demons who were working on this?"

"Only the one human, who--" I stop. "Oh _Hell_."

Zif raises one eyebrow. It's a strange expression for a quagga's face. "This...did not occur to anyone?"

"I didn't even think about it. They pushed her out a _window_ , she ought to have at least one or two vessel faces down, it's a potential lead and I didn't even _consider_ it." It would distress Zif if I actually gave into temptation and beat my head against the desk, so I settle for leaning my head in my arms. "What sort of idiot am I? One Ethereal Force, you'd think it wouldn't remove my entire set of cognitive processes..."

"No one else thought of it either," Zif says, her voice shading from counselor closer to soothing. "You're approaching everything from a different direction than before. It's to be expected that there will be gaps for a time, Force-loss aside."

"I am. Such. An _idiot_."

"Mannie. Stop it." I look up at her, and see one ear has flipped back. "What good does it do you to bemoan a mistake?"

I still think she's an Elohite, somewhere under the fur, hooves, and pointed ears. "None at all, Zif. I'll send Gariel a message to ask if there are any images for me to look at."

Within five minutes I'm back in the conference room, with Gloria standing nearby pointing to pictures in various states of blur. Memory-to-paper transcription only does so much good when applied to someone without a perfect memory, and she had reason to be distracted.

"Sandra Guiterrez. A secretary, I think. Only met her once." The face belongs to no one I recognize. "Keith Newton. Intern. Worked late." One of the clearest pictures, but again, not someone I've seen. "Susan Lee. One of the scientists." This picture is barely more than a blur, vague impression of hair length, blue eyes. Even if I knew the demon behind it, I couldn't tell from that image. "Donnie... Don't know the last name. Another scientist. Didn't catch this one's name. Another scientist. Tina, something beginning with an E, intern. Worked late. Head of the scientists, Alexander Renaud--"

"Wait," I say. Back in the mess of pictures, two of them seem...familiar. No one I knew well enough to place, but familiar. The unnamed scientist, a woman with dark hair and sharp eyes. And the intern, Tina... "Ah! Tina. Of course. Tinalle, Balseraph. Not much of one yet, mind, or she'd be a scientist. Mostly used her for fetching things and running errands too sensitive to send humans on." That little demon hasn't changed vessels since I last saw her, and Gloria's memories have caught the uncertain, sly look in her eyes perfectly. There's nothing quite like a seven-Force Balseraph to combine arrogant scheming and nervous hesitation in a single package.

Gloria stares at me for a moment, a hard look. Curious, I take my own look into her eyes, but the only Need I can see there has nothing to do with me. I don't even know how it's decided which souls become Saints and which are left in Heaven; there was no proper analogy to the position in Hell. "And the other one you pulled?"

"I don't know." The face feels distantly familiar, but I can't put a name or Band to it. Someone I worked with once in passing, met a few times, or spent years beside, now lost in one of the gaps inside my mind. "It might come to me later. Or it might only be someone with a similar face. Not that this _helps_ any."

Gariel shifts from where he's been silently watching us. "More information than before is of some use."

"For what it's worth." I pull back the picture of Tinalle, nervous little Balseraph who you could tell was looking forward to the day when she could lord it over lesser demons herself. Delivered messages, guarded doors, fetched bits of equipment, performed simple tasks and experiments too mind-numbing for anyone else to bother themselves with... And one time, having left a burner on too long, ruined an entire week's work, and came running to me saying that she would owe me if I'd only cover for her mistake.

Now this is worth a smile. "She owes me."

Gloria shrugs. "Like a demon would honor debts. Especially to one it considers a traitor."

"No, you don't understand. She _owes_ me." I can find the Geas hook if I search for it, one of the stronger ones. I always held onto the little debts, a way to guard my own back if someone became inconveniently powerful, or in case of emergencies. I'd never though this one would be useful, but it was such a _simple_ favor from my position. "I can track her from halfway across the world if I need to, though it would take some time. And when I ask her to pay me back, she _will_ do it."

The soul frowns at me; apparently Geases and angels don't mesh well in her mind. "And that's holy?"

"As holy as a Malakite with a machine gun," I say.

"It is one more avenue of approach," says Gariel hastily. "Mannie, take a break. I'll consider the information."

I stand up, nod, leave the conference room. If he'd meant to only wait a few minutes, he would have said so, which means I have...time.

Time is easier to deal with when Kai's about to distract me.

Now that I have the chance to do so, I miss him. I don't want to be back on Earth--I only ever appreciated it as a change from Hell, not on its own merits, and Heaven is more pleasant still--but I'd become accustomed to having Kai nearby and available. Once I've stepped out of the Halls of Progress, I stop seeing people I know, and even polite strangers are strangers.

Zif is padding alongside me; I don't know when she arrived. "You don't have more pressing duties downstairs?" I ask, though I don't want her to leave.

"I'm told they are considering sending you back down to track this little demon," she says. Gariel must have sent her a message just as I left. "If you intend to go there, I'll be nearby, so it would be a waste of time to go back to my duties."

"How practical."

"I try."

The path we're walking on has turned to gravel, a sure sign we've moved out of the immediate domain of the Halls of Progress. My two feet crunch in one pattern, and Zif's hooves in another. "You're not following me about because I might be returning to Earth, Zif."

Her steps are perfectly serene. "And we're not having an ordinary walk through a beautiful place?"

"I'll grant that it's beautiful, but you're too Elohite to spend time on an ordinary walk. You go on an ordinary walk for a reason."

"I wasn't asking you any questions."

"Because you knew eventually I would begin talking."

"And so you have."

I find a bench beneath a tree to sit at; I'm no Ofanite to do all my thinking in motion. "And if I ask you what you wanted to speak about, you'd only say that it was whatever I wanted to speak about, so we can skip past that turn of the conversation back to the part where I tell you what's bothering me."

She smiles that little Jean-like smile, and says nothing.

"And so. We return to the original point, which is what I wrote you about, and here's the part that's bothering me now that I think about it. Why the guilt for such small things? With all I've done, why is it the harmless manipulation that bothers me?"

"Do you want an answer, or did you want to figure this one out yourself?"

Hand to the back of my head. The corners of my mind are still frayed. I need to find a way to weave over all the gaps and pinprick holes. "I'll settle for answers, this time."

"Well. There are a few possibilities." Zif digs a small hole in the gravel with one hoof, and covers it over again. "You have formed personal attachments with Kai where you had not with anyone you wronged before. Thus, you may experience an abstract sense of regret for your previous deeds, but with Kai the reaction is more personal, and thus more intense."

That's a possibility I could live with, for all that it implies I don't mean to make up for my past sins. "What else?"

"That your current deeds, being more recent, are more likely to have emotional consequences than those which occurred long ago."

Again, it says nothing good about my own character. But I could accept this. "And those are the two reasons?"

Zif tamps down a rough patch of gravel with a back hoof. "Or it might be that by focusing your guilt on a small incident which you are sure was meant for good, you distract yourself from responsibility for greater crimes."

"I could have done without hearing that possibility. Which, ah, likely means that it's the correct one."

"Psychology is not mathematics. More's the pity. There's seldom a single correct answer to the questions."

Everywhere I look, I see people who belong here. Every blessed soul that passes by reached some individual destiny, the struggle to achieve it proportional to their abilities. Relievers think nothing of offering their help to anyone who wants it, as well as those who don't. Angels have spent millennia here doing nothing but good. Kai fits in perfectly, for all that he grows bored with near-perfection. Zif manages to embody two Choirs at once, and never loses patience with an attuned who can't stay out of trouble where he ought. And me? I waste the time of others moping over what I'm feeling, or complaining about the small thing redemption took from me.

If Kai were here, he'd tell me to stop sulking, and pester me until I couldn't help but let myself be distracted. But he's down on Earth, doing a job I asked him to do.

A reliever bounces off my back, clambers around to hop on my knees while I'm still blinking. "Guess what!" Maharang says, dancing from one knee to another. "Guess what!"

"...ah?" I think Zif is suppressing a smirk. It is difficult to mope with a butterfly-winged reliever expressing this level of enthusiasm at me. If she hadn't been standing beside me all along, I'd accuse her of sending for it.

"No, no, you have to guess! What I got!" It's not going to leave me be until I do, is it? I have no idea what would make a reliever so happy.

"I don't know, Maharang. Why don't you tell me?"

"You haven't made any guesses at all! I will give you a hint," the reliever says, and climbs up my arm to whisper in my ear. "It's _marvelous_."

"If you've been playing with the Windies again, I'd guess it to be something stolen."

"Nope! All mine. I got it right and proper from a _very_ nice angel, downstairs."

"You've been down--That's _dangerous_ , Maharang. You shouldn't go wandering down Tethers without permission." A full-fledged angel can get into enough trouble wandering around the corporeal plane, much less a tiny reliever.

"I didn't go _far_. I only wanted to see where Kai was, because I haven't seen him for _hours_ and hours and hours, so I went to the Halls of Creation, and then there was this Tether, and I thought maybe he went down _there_ , so I went down there whoosh!"

"And...what did you get, while you were down there?" I can think of a thousand dangerous things for a reliever to acquire when unaccompanied on the corporeal, Geas hooks being among them. I don't think this one could tell an angel from a Demon Prince.

"I went out to look, and it was _very_ different, all very different, and then this one nice man saw me and told me I ought to be careful! But we talked." Maharang drops back down to hop from one knee to another. If it must go dancing about on someone, why can't it play on top of Zif? I'd like to see how well her calm stands up to that. "And I told him I was looking for Kai, and about _you_ , and that I was trying very very hard to be good, and doing lots of helpful things, and did he know where Kai had gone? And he said that I was maybe a little too little to be looking for someone down there just yet, so I ought to go home. So I did. Back up the Tether! Whoosh!"

Zif's ears perk up. "And what did this angel give you, child?"

"You're supposed to _guess_ ," Maharang says, indignantly. "But I will tell you anyway. He gave me a Force! Another one, all my own! So that I can work on growing up until I'm big enough to go play downstairs and look for people myself, he said."

"An angel at the bottom of a Creation Tether gave you a Force? How...curious," Zif says, and she gives me a look that says she's come to the same conclusion I have.

"And what type of Force did it give you?" I ask, with faint hope that, against all evidence, little bat-brained Maharang has just become a bit smarter.

"Corporeal. I can hit things now! Well. Some day. He said it would be useful! Because bad people do things, but I'll be able to stop them! Eventually." Maharang wrinkles up its little face. "I wish it would happen _faster_ , though. It takes an awfully long time to become an angel."

I suppress a sigh. It's dreadfully proud of its new Force. Surely I can come up with something to promise to Jean, if he'll only weld another Ethereal Force to the reliever. "Congratulations."

"Thanks!" Having told its story, it leaps up into the air, and heads off in what appears to be the direction of the Grove. No doubt to show off its new Force to all its other friends. I can barely make out Maharang singing "Hitting things, hitting things, yay!" as it goes.

"I shall never understand that Archangel," Zif says, more to herself than to me.

"Well," I say, "as the Seraphim are always complaining. Ineffable."

Her ears flick forward, one after another. "Indeed."


	7. In Which Secretarial Work Is Potentially Hazardous

Day two of the job. Chad was in the office when I got here, and I wonder if he pretends to go home to sleep. Out in the waiting room I clear my inbox of spam, answer one telemarketing call, line up all of the sugar packets in the bin by the coffee maker, clean the microwave, and create a level out of paperclips and string to make sure that painting is hung as straight as it gets. There's just short of nothing to do, and I'm starting to wonder why this guy bothered to arrange for a temp at all. I guess having someone else in the front of the office makes his company look more prestigious, or professional. Never quite understood the whole status display thing, but I'm told that's the reaction of a Creationer.

The phone rings. "Hello, thank you for calling Cadence, Incorporated, how may I help you?" I kick my feet up on the desk and see how far back I can tilt the chair on its wheels without actually toppling over.

"Could you pass me over to Chad, sweetheart?" The voice has a touch of familiarity, nothing I can place. "You can tell him it's someone from IMS."

That's one of the names on the list he gave me yesterday. "Certainly, just a moment, please." I smack the hold button on the phone, then the intercom. "Chad, there's a call from IMS for you, line one." There are exactly two phone lines to choose from. I don't know that there would be a reason for anyone to call line two, but as long as I'm playing secretary I might as well do it properly.

"Thanks, Megs." Intercom snaps off, and the blinking red light on the phone turns green. I ought to remember to mention IMS to Mannie; I don't know how useful an acronym could be, but it's something.

I arrange my paperclips by color, size, texture, and appearance of suitability for future work. Maybe another telemarketer will call and I'll get a chance to use the rumored line two. Won't that be exciting. Paperclips deemed insufficiently useful find themselves twisted into shapes, and I begin to work out a model of the Eiffel Tower. I've never seen it in person, but it's pretty much a tall, narrow pyramid on four legs, right? This is complicated by how tricky it is to bend paperclips straight again.

Chad's arguing with someone on the phone. Vigorously enough that I can hear, not loudly enough for me to make out the words. I abandon my tower half-built and push my chair back to nearly up against the wall, close enough to listen better without being in a compromising position if he storms out of the office. I think.

The argument's volume increases, until I can make out words and phrases, nothing useful yet, mostly profanity. Sounds like demons get along with each other as well as I've always heard. And to think, these are the ones that are trying to work together. I'd like to see how the _hostile_ demons interact. Probably from a safe distance.

Chad's entire desk phone, cord dangling behind it, slams through the frosted glass top to his office door. I duck the bits of glass, and, sure enough, disturbance. No human, this one. Half a second later he flings open the door, looks around wildly. "Megs? Are you okay?"

"Oh, me? Sure." There's a bit of glass on my lap, but nothing hit hard enough to cut. "Did you want me to step outside so you can finish your call in here?"

"The...cord ripped out," he says, and stares at me. Am I supposed to be reacting more strongly to this? "You're sure you're okay?"

"Compared to rolling a car at 75 miles per hour, or the time I went face-first over the front of my boyfriend's motorcycle, a phone through a window isn't all that distressing." I poke through the closet of office supplies. "Do we have a broom?"

"I was aiming for the wall," he says distantly. "I didn't mean to hit the window..."

"Hey, mistakes happen. And no one is hurt, so it's all good." There's a little hand-sized broom and dustpan, so I go crouch down by the door to clean up the glass. Having it scattered across a rug is going to complicate matters, I can't use the damp paper towel method of getting little bits up like I did the last time a coffee pot exploded. Chad is still standing there, staring at me, and I wonder if he's trying really hard to sound authentically concerned, or if he intended to get me into bed and now needs to figure out if this will cause problems. "I didn't expect a business call to get so heated. Problem with the contract?"

"No," he says. He picks up the phone, takes it back into the office, then returns to stand next to where I'm picking glass out of the carpet. "Only that...my clients want some things faster than it's possible to deliver them."

"Yeah, my boyfriend complains about that too. Fix this, fix that, make my car do something it's not ever going to manage to do, and they want it yesterday, and at a discount for the delay." I dump a dustpan full of glass pieces into the wastebasket by my desk. "What were they asking for this time?"

"Unreasonable things. They would not know how marketing works if it came up and _stabbed_ them." He takes a breath. "But that's why they're paying me to do this. I'll explain things more thoroughly to them in person."

"Sounds like a plan." I think I've picked up as much of the glass as I'm going to get out of the carpet. The phone rings, so I dash over to the desk to grab it. "Hello, thank you for calling Cadence, Incorporated, how may I help you?"

"Same person who called last time, sweetheart. Would you put me through?"

"Just a moment, please!" I slap the hold button. "They called back. If you plug the cord back into your phone, I can transfer the call."

"No, that's..." I'm not sure if he wants to scream or burst into tears, but he's definitely suppressing some reaction. "Why don't you take an early lunch, Megs? This shouldn't take long."

"Sure thing. Let me just grab my bag." I lean over to pick up my bag, flick on my cell phone's sound recording function, and let the phone fall out of my pocket onto the floor. "I'll be back in half an hour, tops." I tap the phone further under the desk with my foot on the way out.

The sunlight is gorgeous outside, and the air tastes like the end of summer. I could enjoy being further north, though of course I'll head back home as soon as I can. By the time I've got a teaching job again, most of the kids will be so out of practice they'll need to restart half a class lower. I only hope they'll want to come back; it can take a lot of work to get back to where you were on a neglected skill. 

I take a spin into a corner convenience store. The woman behind the counter smiles at me. "Very pretty," she says, with an accent so thick I can barely make out the words. "You dance?"

Up to the counter, and I pirouette nicely in front of her. "When I can. You?"

"Oh," she says, and laughs, waving one hand. "When I was a girl. Long time ago. Nice to see girls dance again."

I let my three steps to the freezer show off, an entertaining challenge in sandals. And, oo, they have my favorite flavor of ice cream. Back to the counter with a pint, and I sweep a bow as I put it down. "Thank you."

"No, no, thank _you_." She pats my hand, begins tapping away at the cash register. "You should wear a skirt. Boys like girls in skirts."

"Do they?" I spin in front of the counter until it's time to pause and hand over money. "I'll have to remember that. I'm not sure I even own any skirts right now."

Her smile makes all her wrinkles beautiful. "Boys like girls who dance. Skirts, too. You can find a nice boy."

"I already have one," I say, and spin back outside.

I don't have a spoon, and people look at you strangely if you try to eat a pint of ice cream without one, so I take my time heading back to the office, wandering every which other way. This part of the city shows its age in the architecture and the touch of grime, the way buildings with brick fronts are made of actual brick instead of having an eighth inch of brick coating. I admire the way humans can take the basic concepts of shelter and storage, and turn it into practical art. The things I could do in this city, with a little time and direction... But I was given a job, and I'm getting back to it, I really am, as soon as I can. Got to make sure the Boss knows where to find me once he finishes up on his project. I'm not sure how to get my new phone number to him, but he's all ineffable and stuff, so I'm sure he can work that out. Or he could check a phone book.

Chad's in his office when I get back, so I take my time rummaging through the drawer beneath the microwave for the perfect spoon. It's a mish-mash of assorted utensils, and the one I'm looking for is specific. He walks out right when I finally find it, a nice straight spoon with a flower pattern on the handle. "Megs, when you have a minute, call around and find out how soon we can get that window fixed, would you?"

"Sure thing." I head back to my desk with spoon and ice cream in hand. "Anything else you need me to work on while I'm at it? I'd rather not waste your money sitting around twiddling my thumbs if I could lend you a hand, maybe let you leave work on time for once." Give me some information, here. I take a bite. The ice cream is every bit as good as it was the last time I tried this flavor. Thank God for neighborhood convenience stores.

He drums his fingers on my desk. "Actually, yes. Find some restaurant for lunch tomorrow, and make reservations for three people. No, four, you can come along. Some place where we can talk business. Noon reservations should be fine."

"Clients coming by?" I scoot the cell phone towards me under the desk with one foot. Got to read the manual again tonight and make sure I know how to take pictures.

"Flying in tomorrow, yes. To discuss things in person." He's trying to project confidence, but I think underneath there he's awfully worried. Good thing he doesn't want me to stay behind and answer phones, though I don't know why he'd want me along on a business meeting. Taking notes? Strength in numbers? I'll let someone else figure that out.

"Don't worry, then. I'll set it up." I can feel the caffeine starting to kick in, exactly what I need. Fire extinguisher or no, I'm not going to try making coffee here, and he doesn't seem interested in doing it himself.

"Thanks, Megs. You're a wonder." The flashy grin is entirely for my benefit. How charming. "...is that your lunch?" I think he's just now registered the ice cream.

"Yeah. My favorite kind." I show him the label. "Coffee Coffee, Buzz Buzz Buzz. Coffee and mocha ice cream, bits of chocolate-covered espresso beans. Life doesn't get much better than that."

"So I see." He takes a step back, and a longer look at me. "Since we're heading out to a dressy place tomorrow, could you dig out a nicer outfit to wear? I don't mind the jeans, but with clients coming--"

"I'm pretty sure I have a skirt somewhere," I say. And if I don't, I can buy one.

"Good girl," he says, and pats me on the shoulder. Because I have more self-control than some Ofanim, I do not use any of the items within reach to stab the hand in question, but only smile until he's back in his office.

Then it's under the desk to retrieve my phone, turn off the recording, and plug it into my computer. It could wait until I got home, but I want this information sent out as quickly as possible, to get through this job sooner.

Dull day, after the brief moment of entertainment. I'm not sure they chose the right person for this job. A Mercurian wouldn't have any problem playing secretary, an Elohite would know what the demon was feeling, but me? I want to race off somewhere that isn't here, get out of this awful little room. How about a Kyriotate? Their host might appreciate skipping the actual work and still taking home a paycheck. Seraphim aren't so great at undercover and most Malakim wouldn't be well-suited to this for obvious reasons, but, come on, an Ofanite. They couldn't come up with anyone better to do the job than me? 

That's something to think about on the way home, coaxing the blasted car through traffic. It would be faster to run than drive, but there's that whole matter of maintaining a Role.

I call Mannie while trying to find something formal inside my closet. There's one skirt, loose enough that I can run in it if I need to, and it'll have to do. "Hey, Kai," he says, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding until he picked up on the other end. "We received the recording you sent."

"Anything useful? I was out of the office at the time, so I don't know what was on it." I slide the closet shut, and work my pants off, skirt on with my free hand. Yeah, I can run in this if I need to.

"Potentially useful. We're working on checking some of the references against other information that's come up. I would recommend buying sunglasses if the people mentioned in the conversation are going to be stopping by, as context suggests that one of them is a Lilim. Did you encounter anything else today?"

"Well." I dance through the living room, not enough room to do proper moves but the tighter ones will fit if I'm careful. Wouldn't want to smack over my cityscape with a rogue foot. "When he threw his phone through the window I heard disturbance, so he's definitely a demon. Okay, not definitely, I suppose there's the possibility that he could be an ethereal or even an angel under really deep cover, but that seems unlikely, right?"

"He threw a phone through the window?" He's going all worried on me again, I can hear it. I do a quick spin in the kitchen and head back along my route.

"Yeah, but he wasn't _aiming_ for it. Made a mess, nothing more. Apparently the person on the other end of the line pissed him off. Do demons always get along so badly? I mean, they're all on the same side, though I guess it's not like I'm one to speak about cooperation, when War is _still_ snarling at Judgment over a trial that happened _ages_ ago. You'd think they'd have gotten over it by now."

"Ah. Kai. They--yes. Demons get along like that, and if they seem to cooperate well, it's because their goals are similar, or they wish to hide their intention to betray the other."

"Always?" What a dreary, nervous way to live, never knowing when people you work with might try to hurt you. I'd think more demons would go running for angelic Tethers the instant they got to Earth, if only for a chance to get away from that. Maybe some do, but the Game is watching... It's an unpleasant thought.

"Not...always. But largely, yes."

If I kick the bathroom door open, I can put on hand on the counter as if it were a bar in the practice room, point one foot straight out behind me. The familiar moves aren't quite the same as having a fast car, but it's a type of controlled motion I know better than any other. "At least you're out of that now. Oh, right, nearly forgot, the person who called? Says she's calling from IMS. Do those initials mean anything to you?"

"Not immediately, but we'll--"

"Look into it, right. All that research. I'd be bored stiff." The skirt is more comfortable than my jeans would have been for doing the splits. Maybe there's something to be said for culturally-defined female fashion. "Not that this job isn't half past boring itself, but I'd be _more_ bored stiff if I were stuck in a bunch of paperwork trying to track down references. Or wherever it is that you keep these sorts of things." I stand up, twirl, watch the fabric spin around me, wrap down my legs when I change directions. Yeah, I could learn to like skirts. "You keeping yourself entertained?"

"More or less," he says, and there's something in the lack of hesitation that means he's not telling me something. Not another Lightning secret, but something I'd want to know.

But. He's choosing not to tell me. I will be polite, and respect his privacy, and not ask about whatever it is that he's avoiding. "I wish you could come visit. That would be fun. But I'm sure when this job finishes I can swing by before I head back out to where I need to be, right?"

"I certainly hope so." A pause at the other end, a faint musical voice, that must be little Maharang bringing him a note or cup of coffee. Sweet kid, and I hope it fledges Ofanite when it gets around to that, because someone needs to keep Mannie from working himself to exhaustion when I'm not around. Nothing quite like an Ofanite to keep things moving. Take a look at Janus for proof in motion. "I'd better get back to work."

"Always with the working. You're such a Sparky." I flip the phone into the air, catch it again. "I'll call again tomorrow, or if anything major comes up. Let me know if anything big happens on your end, okay?" And then I hang up, because he'll get twitchy if he tries to say that he will without actually lying about it.


	8. In Which There Are Many Sorts Of Dancing Which An Ofanite Might Enjoy

Bored. Tired of the apartment. So I drag the car along on a shopping trip, time to support Trade, which has always been a friendly Word. Proper groceries to cook with, better shoes, and a little air freshener for the car in the shape of a Mercurian silhouette, because if Jack stops by he'll find it funny. Sunglasses like Mannie suggested, and the man behind the counter in the kiosk helps me try on a dozen pairs until I find the perfect fit. "They look good on you," he says, once I've settled on a cheap but functional pair. "Planning on going anywhere special tonight?"

"With sunglasses on? Hardly." All the world tinted a shade darker. I'm not sure I like it, but maybe it's better in sunlight than inside the mall. "Tomorrow, though. Why do you ask?"

"Curious," he says, his smile all awkward. "That's all. Only if, see, if you're not doing anything tonight, I know some places..."

"Hey, I don't have anything more exciting planned than staring at the computer and trying to cook, not tonight. Where would you suggest?" I spin while waiting for an answer, reverse directions, and the skirt wraps around me. Never going to get tired of that move.

"Depends. Are you 21?"

I try to remember my Role's age. "Not quite yet."

"In that case, there's an arcade down on Madison, attached to an ice skating rink, that's open until two in the morning. They have all the classic games, new stuff, skeeball, you name it. That's where I was going to head as soon as the mall closed anyway, if you wanted to come along? I'm meeting up with some friends there. I mean, if you're bored, or anything."

"Bored's my middle name these days," I say. "Besides, I'm new to the city. I'd love to meet some people."

"Sweet. Um, you want to meet me here, then, when the mall closes? That's about half an hour from now, really sucky hours as a mall goes."

"I can entertain myself in a mall for half an hour, sure."

I never spent time in malls back home; clothes could be acquired from the local thrift shop, books from the used book store, and my friends were other teachers with better things to do with their time, or kids too young to drive themselves to the mall. I don't think I'll start. Too many shops selling mass-produced clothing and shoes, nothing hand-made except imports from places where labor is cheap. Marc and Eli both would agree that market in Seattle is better.

There's a line of pay phones near the restrooms. I could wait there, but they'd never ring for me. If anyone wants to call, I have my cell phone now.

The guy from the kiosk, who's named something atrocious he won't admit to but goes by JJ, is lousy at giving directions, so I find my way to the arcade more efficiently. "You've been here before?" he asks, when I coax the Daewoo into a parking spot. "I didn't even know that route would work."

"Passed it a while back, and remembered a shortcut," I say, and give the car a kick when the interior light refuses to turn off. This does not convince the light to turn off. "Half a sec." I clamber back into the car, dig a screwdriver out of the glove compartment, disassemble the light, and unscrew the bulb. There. "Okay. You were saying?"

"Nothing much." He leads me inside the arcade, where dozens of games compete with individual theme music, flashing, promises of entertainment. "I hate to say this, because I would have to take the bus if you hadn't given me a ride, but your car _sucks_ , Megan."

"Tell me about it. I'm trading in for something better the minute I can." I search my pockets for change from the shopping trip, and find my total resources are down to less than ten dollars. It's a good thing vessels don't need to eat. "So what do you recommend?" Classify video games as another one of those things I haven't tried. Most of my friends, when they bothered dragging me off somewhere for fun, would take me to clubs or bars. The last video game I played was Mrs. Pacman, back when it was new.

"Depends on what your style is." JJ chews his lip, and then points at a set of consoles set up in front of low platforms. "You ever tried any of those?"

"Heard of them, I think, but I haven't tried any." I make my way through the casual jostle of children and teenagers, mostly shading into post-high school crowd as parents take their children home for the night. A low platform with the surface divided into nine squares, four with arrows on them. "So, how does this work?"

"Simple. Here, try it on one of the easy songs to start with, and when you have the hang of it you can try the harder ones." He drops two quarters into the slot, taps through the menu options. "My, um, ex-girlfriend used to play this a lot. Never was so good at it myself, but you can pick up some from watching." A garish background, and the first strains of a peppy song. My type of music. "When the arrows hit the line at the top, you step on the appropriate pad. Dancing, see?"

"Not quite the kind of dancing I'm used to, but steps to music are steps to music." The arrows are coming along slowly, perfectly to the beat of the music, and it's barely worth the effort to hit each in turn. By twenty steps in the game has begun to congratulate me on not missing any steps. Far too easy. "Does this have any faster songs?"

"Sure, if you're up for it. You're doing fine. We can bump it up a few levels once this song ends." JJ breaks off to greet his friends as they accumulate, half of them demanding to know where he was, they thought he'd missed the bus. A quick round of introductions just as the song finishes.

"Not a bad score, for an easy song," says the one introduced as Sharon, "but it gets much harder at the higher levels." She steps over to the second pad, drops quarters in, chooses a versus mode. "Let's kick it up a few notches."

"She hasn't played before," JJ protests, but I can recognize a challenge when I see one, and I'm not going to let it pass by.

"Don't worry," I say, "this is fair. I took dance lessons before, so I'm sure I can keep up." Someone passes me enough quarters to accept the request on the screen. Apparently it's my turn to choose the song, so I look for the highest-rated one I can find. "This one any good?"

"What's the point of wasting quarters on failing out before the song even finishes?" says one of JJ's friends.

"No, that's great," Sharon says. "One of my favorites."

"It has a good beat, and you can dance to it?" She doesn't catch the reference, so I settle for a grin. "Whenever you're ready."

The song kicks into motion, arrows begin pouring onto the screen, and I've finally found a video game for Ofanim to play. For the first few bars I settle for hitting the all the arrows at the right time, but there's nothing exciting about _that_ , so I start tossing in a little more flair to it. See if I can do a pirouette on that held one in the few instants before I have to start tapping other arrows again, memorize a coming row and turn to do a move with my back to the screen. A touch slower and I'd try a handstand, but I do want to win. The game's screaming some sort of over-the-top praises at the string of unmissed moves. I bet that if I could get a few of these set up in Heaven, Mannie could edit out that feature. Use one of the empty rooms in the Halls of Creation, set up rows of these, and, okay, it's going to be a bit more challenging trying to do this in celform without proper feet, but I can work around that.

One last slam down with both feet, and the song's over. Sharon takes a deep breath, stares at me, and then says, "Oh, come on. You _really_ never played before?"

"No, though I'd like to try again. How fast do these things go?"

She laughs, and steps off the pad. "If anyone had been betting, I'd call you a hustler. And if that's not fast enough for you, you're shit out of luck. Anyone for skeeball?"

"No, really, I haven't played before..." I trail along with them to the skeeball machines, allowing myself only one last wistful look at the stomping games. I can come back later on my own, though it won't be as much fun without the competition. "You're pretty good at it yourself," I tell Sharon, because all the reactions and chatter I'm seeing suggest most people can't get through that song.

"It means I don't have a life," she says, and laughs again, a more self-conscious sound than before. "But at least I can be good at one thing."

Turns out she's pretty good at skeeball too.

Through the course of the evening I discover that everyone in this group works at the mall, none of them like their jobs, and I'm the only one with a car. JJ is the oldest, Sharon's the only one who lives alone, and this is...pretty much what they do. Blow some money at the arcade on weeknights, spend weekends working or maybe seeing a movie. Strange little circular lives, full of a vague hope that as they get older things will change for the better. If I were a Mercurian, I'd know their histories, the way they related to each other, maybe some way to help or inspire... But I'm just an Ofanite, so I play skeeball and a variety of video games that toss around ridiculously unrealistic gore, and fifteen minutes before the last bus leaves, end up at a glass box full of cheap stuffed toys trying to maneuver a claw over to get one.

The design is downright Vapulan; I've watched three of them try, and the claw will nearly grab something, pull it up a few inches, and then let plush slide out of its grasp right before moving over to the release chute. Dastardly. My last two quarters go into the machine for a try. "Think you can manage this one?" asks JJ.

I aim for a purple bear. The claw snaps around its head, pulls up, over...and of course the toy falls out right before the chute. "Guess not."

"You can't be good at _everything_ ," says Sharon, halfway through counting up all the tickets everyone's compiled this time. She folds them neatly up into stacks, then opens up JJ's backpack to stick the tickets inside. "That's another five hundred, give or take a few. At this rate we'll be able to afford the PS2 in another two weeks."

"Wouldn't it be cheaper to buy one straight out?" I saw the listed ticket price for the console, and even with my poor grasp of math I could guess at how long it would take to make that many tickets from arcade games.

"Sure, but what's the fun in that?" JJ checks his watch. "We'd better go in case the bus gets there early."

Back outside into a night that's sliding into chilly. Must remember that skirts are also _colder_ than pants. "I can give anyone a ride home who lives in my direction," I offer. I could give all of them rides home if they didn't mind the lack of places to sit in the car, but if you go too far out of your way to help people, they start getting nervous, which kinda defeats the purpose. "I'm over near 15th and Cesar Chavez."

"The Brookstone apartments? I'll take the ride," Sharon says. "It's faster than the bus and walking." The group exchanges the casual good-nights of people who know they'll all see each other again in the morning, and the rest trudge off to the bus stop while I lead her over to my car.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says, as she gets in. "I was...well, you know how it is, sometimes, with an ex?"

I don't know, but my Role ought to. "Don't worry about it. We both had fun, so it's all good, right?"

"I guess so." She draws lines in the dust on the dashboard with one finger. "But, still. It's..." She sneaks a look at me as I drive. "Anyway. Are you, like, actually interested in JJ?"

"He's a nice guy, but I already have a boyfriend, back home."

"Oh! Um. Yeah, long distance relationships are hard, aren't they?"

"So people keep telling me." I can make decent time at this time of night with so little traffic, though I do try to remember to stop at red lights, now that I have a passenger in the car. 

As I'm pulling into the garage, a jangling slam of disturbance that makes me twitch, followed by fainter echoes. Sharon blinks. "What's the matter?"

"It's...ah. Just remembered something I need to do tonight." I slide out of the car, and give her a quick smile. Hurry hurry _hurry_. The instant she's out, I lock the car, and give her a quick wave. "I'd better get to that. Nice meeting you! Bye!" And I'm running off towards the garage exit while she's still giving me a confused wave.

Where did that come from? Down the street, don't get hit by the car when crossing to the next block over. Nearly to the park, but not _there_ , another buzz of disturbance from...up and forward. The apartment complex has fences, but they're not that hard to get over, especially with no one looking. This time of night all good citizens are snug in their beds preparing for another day of work, so who's making all the noise? I follow the sound down a slope to a building, then up three flights of stairs.

Locked door. But I _know_ I heard that from inside, and there's still disturbance feeding on what I heard. Someone's being noisy and not caring about it. I should have taken Jack up on his offer to teach me lock-picking.

If you can't get through an obstacle, go around it. There's a railing up on this landing, and if I step out on that, one jump takes me to the balcony. Now _here's_ a reason for noise, the glass doors open but a hole ripped through the screen, large enough for me to step through.

All my bags still back in the car; I could use a good cue ball to hand right now. I step through the torn screen into a living room that was messy before, but now looks like a bunch of Windies came through. Except Windies aren't so much into casual destruction. The light is off, and the room is dark enough even with a porch light around the corner to make me careful of where I step. Crunching beneath my feet. I reach out to touch the wall, get my bearings, and my fingers find...wet.

Quick sniff. Blood. Damn it. I don't know who's bleeding, or how much, so forget being sneaky. Dash through into the bedroom where a lamp, knocked over, still provides light, and there's a man there struggling weakly in the grip of a woman taller than I am, and by the way she holds the man up with one hand, stronger. She starts to turn when I move into the room, but not fast enough to avoid one Ofanite in the back, courtesy of me.

All three of us down on the floor, the old man gasping, I can see even in this light how close she came to crushing his throat. I spring away before she can get back up, grab the nearest thing at hand, duck before using it and find I'm glad I did when the wall behinds me cracks into a shower of plaster. What is it with all the Calabim? But I'm happier down here where I can throw myself at her ankles while she's halfway back to standing, then smack her upside the head with a hardback book so long as she's in easy reach.

Smoke? There's that scent in the air, I need to investigate, but right now I have a pissed-off Calabite to deal with. I'm not sure they come in any variety other than pissed off, but then again, it might only be that whenever I meet them I'm trying to kill them, which does tend to put people in a bad mood.

The Calabite throws me off, stands up while I'm getting back to my own feet, and cocks her head at me. "What are you doing here, little girl?"

I have a hardcover book. Armed and dangerous, or as dangerous as I get. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Aren't you afraid?" Her teeth gleam when she smiles. "You should be."

Who has time for witty banter? I throw the book at her head, grab another one and roll out of the way. I catch the title and could almost regret this, Emily Dickinson deserves better treatment, but who am I to waste having my hands on a hardcover? The Calabite twists around towards me, snarls in my face, all pretense of conversation gone, but if she's stronger, I'm faster. She tries to blast me, doesn't get so much as a paper cut on me. Should've thought to ask your Prince for a few more Celestial Forces. 

The book in my hands is better than a sledgehammer. She falls back under the blows, all her face a snarl as she stops trying to hit me with her resonance and starts being afraid. Tries to dodge, but in a direction I was expecting, and a solid slam drops her to the floor. Unconscious. Not dead yet, but I can get to that. First, time to see to the human who's going to need serious help, by what I saw.

I crouch down on the floor beside him, touch his neck. His eyes are closed and his breathing's so ragged I'm worried. There's a phone knocked over on the floor, the receiver beeping out its "put me back on the hook" noise. A nice old rotary phone, even, so I whack the bit that tells it the receiver's been hung up, and then dial 911.

I did intend to give the address and otherwise make sure an ambulance arrives in time, except that the second demon that I didn't notice tackles me from behind.

Down on my face in the carpet, and I was distracted enough by the phone that it's managed to twist one of my arms up behind me. "Somehow," it breathes in my ear, "I don't think you're his granddaughter, come to visit." I can just make out the voice of the 911 operator asking if anyone is there.

Okay, I wasn't planning on making any noise myself if I could help it--discreet, I've had that drilled into me, don't attract attention--but it's a bit late for that sort of thing. I start to shout, get half of a "Help" out before the demon's hand is across my mouth.

So I yank my head back, bite his hand, and slam the phone receiver into his head with my free hand. Damned awkward direction to be working from, but it at least startles him enough to let me twist free. He rips the receiver off the phone while I'm pulling back, but that's not going to hang up the phone. Guess it's time to find out how fast the emergency response is in this city. "Bitch," he says, conversationally, "I am going to cut you up and leave you to burn or bleed. Want to find out which happens first?"

I can only assume they work for someone who requires dramatic dialogue before attacking; the speech is long enough to give me a chance to catch my breath, find a shard of broken pottery to use. I give it a quick toss while he's busy with the talking, and leave a clean slice through his jacket all the way down to bleeding skin. Look who's bleeding first.

His curse is unintelligible. His Song, however, is familiar. I fling myself out of the way, flames bursting out of the floor behind me. I liked that Song a lot better when Mannie was using it. This complicates matters, and--okay, so the fire alarm is going off.

I find myself halfway into the bedroom, a fire between the two of us. I can run through that if I need to, but I'd rather not. "What, you're not worried about your friend?" My hands search for something I can throw, and I wonder who builds a bedroom without any windows. I hate running out of exits. The demon unconscious on the floor beneath me carries nothing useful that I can find on a cursory search, and I'm not taking my eyes off of that one for long enough to look more thoroughly.

"She was weak. _You're_ weak." I am so very much not ready to fight back against a wave of emotion right now. Another Song, I don't recognize this one, and I throw a book at him, but it's not a good throw, goes skittering off in the darkness behind him. The fire alarm is giving me a headache, the smoke's growing stronger. I am supposed to be off maintaining my Role, not playing superhero, and I don't even know who these two work for.

The demon's arms melt, lengthen, pucker in places, until two long tentacles reach above and around the fire towards me, a knife whipping about in one. I dodge, pull back, and a flick of that tentacle sends the knife straight towards the old man on the ground. I could no more let it hit than I could lift the building over my head to toss at someone. And I am fast but--only so fast.

If I were fast enough, I could have caught the knife by the hilt. Instead I only knock it out of the way with my arm, can't help the gasp when it _cuts_. At this rate the man's going to be covered as much in my blood as his own. My arm doesn't want to respond properly, it's a good thing I can use the gifts my Boss gave me with my left hand as well as with my right.

Gasp from behind me, and dammit no no _no_ , I was supposed to be _saving_ someone here, forget the demon and I crouch back down by the old man on the floor, old _body_ on the floor, he's not breathing. All the blood about him, I don't think CPR will be enough to bring him back.

A tentacle twists around one of my ankles and drags me back. Stupid Songs, who wants tentacle arms anyway? I can't get back to my feet with one foot in the air, no shock but plenty of pain to find myself pulled through the fire. Slam into the wall, now my head's gone all sticky, I can't tell if from my own blood or what was left behind. I can't get to my _feet_ , not with that tentacle there, can't even twist around enough to grab at it or do any damage.

"Stupid little angel," says the demon, I hate how much he's enjoying this. "Stupid, weak--"

The gunshot surprises both of us. The second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth ones startle him more. The coil around my ankle lets go as bullets slam him back. Tough demon, but not tough enough to take that sort of damage. And while he's hitting the floor twitching, I take the opportunity to beat the fire out of my skirt. To look up.

On the balcony, Sharon stands with the gun still in her hand, eyes wide. "What. _What_. Is..."

Over the fire alarm, I can hear sirens now. Someone'll have my hide if I stick around to try to explain this to the mortal authorities. "Half a sec," I say, and pull out my phone, make my way to the balcony where she's still shaking, can't blame her for that.

"Kai, it's--"

"Shush. Okay. I'm at an apartment complex on...somewhere on 15th, there are two demons out on the floor, unconscious and don't know if either vessel is properly dead, one mortal dead too, I can barely _hear_ through the disturbance, and I'm taking off now but if you could ask someone to come by and help deal with the cleanup? That would be good." Sharon's staring at me, but I don't have time to explain this to her.

"Are you okay?"

"Okay? No, I'm bleeding and hello there's a demon with _tentacles_ for arms on the floor in there, so. If you have a Kyrio handy to help out before the police arrive? That would be good. I'm getting out of here." The front door unlocks easily from this side, and Sharon follows behind me. Hasn't let go of her gun yet. Smart.

"Yes, I'm passing on the information, but are you--"

"Mannie, I _really_ need to get moving." Down three flights of stairs, I'm going to be leaving a blood trail like nobody's business. "If you need more info, call back later." I hang up on him, and feel guilty about it, but I need to talk to Sharon before she starts screaming. Or shouting.

"What the _fuck_ was that, that thing back there?"

"The one you saw? I'd guess Habbalite, though I can't be sure." The back fence of this complex borders on the park. Perfect. "It's _really_ complicated, and I _will_ explain things, but first, getting away from this place before the police complicate matters more."

She shuts up and follows me over the fence. One fewer problem to worry about.

Back through the park, and I slow down to a decent walk once we've passed through the playground and a few sets of trees. "Nice shooting, by the way."

"My mother said I should be able to defend myself," she says, and then, "No, do _not_ try to distract me. What the hell was going on back there?"

"It was just a compliment, Sharon. I never was much good with guns, and I definitely needed the help." I am going to have _so_ much explaining to do the next time a triad stops by. I don't hear anyone heading in this direction; they're plenty distracted by bodies, flames, and whatever else is left in that apartment.

"Yes, because you were being attacked by something straight out of _Lovecraft_ , and then the next thing I know you're telling someone they're demons and..." She takes a sharp, shuddering breath. "And I just _shot_ someone, I have never shot anyone before, so please, please tell me that I did the right thing."

"Okay. Point the first. You just shot a _demon_. So you can pat yourself on the back for that one. Point the second, all you killed was its vessel, so you don't even have a real death on your conscience, if that sort of thing would worry you."

"It was _possessing_ someone?"

"No, no, it's...a made body, okay? Created for the demon to use, so that it can walk around on Earth looking human. And losing one _hurts_ , believe me, but it'll wake up in Hell eventually, explain to its Prince how it came to lose that one, and maybe it'll be back, maybe it won't."

"A demon. So. I shot a demon." She closes her eyes. "I was only curious, and then I got suspicious, and then suddenly there's a fire alarm going off and it sounds like people fighting inside so I climbed around on the balcony and, oh God, oh God, what is _happening_?"

I'd give her a hug, but I think she needs space more. "Nothing new. I'm sorry you had to get tangled up in all this. It's a very old war. Older than I am. We generally try to keep things...covered up."

"Covered up." She wipes her nose with the back of one sleeve. "Covered _up_. So, what, demons and, and angels run around having fights in random apartment buildings, and everyone pretends it isn't happening? What's next? Ghosts, vampires, aliens?"

"I haven't heard of any aliens," I say, "though I can't rule out the possibility."

She gives me a sidelong look. "So that, what, makes you an angel?"

"Yup."

"So show me your wings."

I sigh. "I don't have wings. I'm not that sort of angel. What I _am_ is bleeding, and I'd like to take care of that. Are you going to be okay?"

"No. I am not going to be okay. I shot someone, _something_ , that looked like it came out of a horror movie, and I ran away from the police, and now I'm sitting next to someone I just met tonight who is _bleeding_ all over the place, and who tells me that it's only a little quarrel between angels and demons! I am _not_ okay!"

Now doesn't seem like the best time to go into details. "I'm going to get myself fixed up. Do you want to come along, or do you want to go home?" If she runs to the police, I am in all sorts of different trouble.

"I am not walking home alone. Not right now." She stands up. "Fine, let's go get you fixed. Are you going to walk into a hospital like that, or do the whole E.T. thing and press a glowing finger to the wound?"

"Neither." I lead the way back to the fence around the abandoned lot, climb over, and wait for her to come along. Climbing fences grows progressively more difficult as my arm continues to bleed. Sharon doesn't seem bothered when she ends up with bloody hands from climbing over the same spot I did, and I can't tell if that's poise or shock.

The shed's door is closed. I drop down to the ground in front. "Hey, Cat," I say. "You said you'd owe me a favor. Well, I'd like to call it in." I'm no Lilim, Bright or otherwise; if it doesn't want to pay me back, there's nothing I can do about it. 

A patch of shadow detaches itself from the side of the shed. Cat pads forward, as silently as I'd expect of the dreamling. "You return so soon?"

"The life I lead is a dangerous one. If you'd heal me, I'll call the debt paid."

"A fair trade. I approve." It smiles, pointy teeth, and I think it's showing off for Sharon, who makes a small noise behind me. "I will sing you this Song, then. You might want to learn it yourself. And then maybe you'll bring something as a gift for a little Cat?"

"Maybe."

The ethereal drops to its hands and knees beside me, takes hold of my injured arm. "More damage than I'm used to," it says. "I deal in such small things, little unimportant things. Pets and children."

"Not unimportant," I say. "Only small."

Cat shrugs, opens its sharp-toothed mouth, and sings. My arm knits itself back together, flesh building up over bone, then skin sliding back together across the top. "Not so bad for the daughter of the King of Cats, I think. No more debt, then?"

"None at all." I stand up, sketch a quick bow to the ethereal. "And thank you for the help."

"Mind the cracks." Cat slides back into the shadows.

"That...wasn't a demon, was it?" Sharon asks.

"Nope."

"An angel?"

"No. It's an ethereal. Which is...pretty complicated. Look, Sharon." I turn to face her. "If you want, you can go back home, go back to bed, and pretend this never happened. Call it a bad dream. And if you're planning on that, I ought to stop with the explanations."

"And the other choice?"

"It's...convenient, sometimes. When there are people who know what's going on, and aren't going to start talking about it to anyone they shouldn't. There are all sorts of ways for angels and demons to find each other. You saw that when I went running in the parking lot. But humans? A demon can't tell one human who knows the truth from a thousand humans who wouldn't believe it if they heard it."

"I think I like the second choice better. Because there's no way I could convince myself this was all a bad dream, not even if I wanted to."

"Good." She follows me back to the fence, and it's all the easier to help her back over this time. Her steps grow unsteady; unlike me, she's missing sleep, and she's been run through circumstances that even I find trying, without being prepared for it.

"Tell me," she says, one arm over my shoulder while we take the long way back to our apartments, "is your name really Megan? And do you really do temp work for a marketing agency?"

"My name's Megan in all sorts of official documents, if that's the meaning you want. But my friends call me Kai. And...yeah, I do temp work for a marketing agency. Just like I said."

She nods sleepily, beside me. "And you really never played before--"

"Nope."

"Angels are just good at that."

"Well. I am."

"Okay," she says. "I can work with that."


	9. An Intermission With Judgment And Creation

The triad found Kavita outside the Halls of Creation, waiting on a bench, with her hands folded in her lap. Beside her a cup of tea cooled. "Welcome," she said, as they approached. "Are you well?"

"Quite," said the Mercurian, and held her feet still, though she wished to shift uneasily. It had been explained to her that while it would be preferable to send someone of the angel's own Choir, Bright Lilim were in short supply, and those of Judgment even more so, leaving a Mercurian as the nearest approximation. Though she was old, and had experience with all types of angels, she did not know how best to speak with one of these. "And you?"

Kavita spread her hands. "I continue to wait. It has not changed from the last time Judgment spoke with me. If circumstances were such that my answer had changed, all of Heaven would be singing the news."

"You would use your talents for the Host better if you took service with another Archangel," said the Mercurian gently, for she had been told, always gently with this one. "You would be _safer_ with a Superior to protect you, should any demon try to harm you."

"My Lord will protect me, as he first did when he made me," said Kavita, and all the triad understood her meaning when she said, _he made me._ The Seraph, who had served Nightmares many centuries ago, knew the Truth of what this one said, for all that the cloud of an Archangel's nature obscured the Gifter's words. "If all creatures follow a proper order, then mine is to do as he says, and he has not... He has not given me any commands, of late. And so I wait. It is not my place to question his purposes."

"Would you wait forever, then?" asked the Seraph, with as gentle a tone as she could manage through her frustration. "He may never return."

"Until he tells me otherwise." Kavita picked up her cup of tea, and stared into it. "He placed many of his Servitors with other Archangels, before he left. If he meant for me to be working for another, he would have done so with me as well."

A Kyriotate of Creation approached from a door near where the triad stood, manifesting mouths that bared fangs. "That you would harass her," it said to them, voices speaking in a chorus, "that at a time like this you would continue to harass her--"

"Peace," said Kavita. "They mean no harm." She drank her tea, and did not smile at them. "Their own Archangel believes what he will of ours, and nothing we can say will change that. But they mean no harm."

"Always asking, always poking, always accusing," said the Kyriotate, its voices tangling until they spoke over each other. "They push us away from Heaven, call us guilty when we've committed no crime, and then make every denial into proof--"

"Peace," said Kavita, and her voice had acquired steel beneath all her gentle words. "They mean no harm. Please go."

The Kyriotate shuddered with indecision, and at last produced eyes to drop before her. "As you would have me do." It returned to the Halls of Creation, its eyes watching them as it went. The Seraph made a note to have someone speak with the Kyriotate about its hostility.

"If you have more questions," Kavita said to them, "my answers have not changed from the last time those questions were asked. Or have you produced new ones?"

"No," said the Seraph, "none that are new." She closed six eyes, opened them again. "We would ask that you consider the matter."

"I do," said the Bright Lilim. "Constantly."

The triad made polite gestures of farewell, and left.

"How long has she been an angel?" the Cherub asked, as the three of them walked together. He had said little since being assigned to their triad, and the Mercurian and Seraph, still feeling the loss of their friend, had not said many words to him either, outside of what was required for performing their duty.

"Nearly eight hundred years," said the Mercurian. "I checked the records. Kavita redeemed a few days before I was made." She dropped back into a thoughtful silence.

"Is there something about this angel which concerns you, Dedan, that no other we've investigated has?" The Seraph was told to watch their new Cherub, to guard him against unreasonable attachments, to see if he spent too much time brooding, was too easily roused to anger, but the Cherub had only...watched. Spoken as needed, and no more. She felt some concern that this quiet was the sign of weakness.

"I have only seen one Bright Lilim before," said the Cherub, in a voice carefully devoid of commentary. "He was newly redeemed, and...different." His tail swished back and forth. "I did not think much of him. But this one seems to have none of his faults. Only that she trusts too much in her Archangel."

"Which would be no fault for those serving any other," said the Mercurian. She laid a hand on the shoulder of the Cherub, mindful of his mood. "It is tragic, that what would be otherwise a sign of loyalty tears them away from what they ought to do. And what do you think of the Servitors of Creation?"

"I do not know how they continue to hope." Dedan shook his mane, and paced restlessly, a little faster than his companions. "They have been abandoned, and yet they believe. They receive no commands, and yet they believe. They wait while their Superior frivols away his time, heedless of his responsibilities, and yet, they _believe_. It's madness, and it's faith. I cannot understand it." His lips drew back in something near a snarl. "All the Archangels of Heaven who would give them proper duties, would protect them and treat them as they deserve, and they continue to give their hope to someone who doesn't merit such trust. And they cannot _see_..." He fell silent again.

The Mercurian did not dabble in gossip, but she recalled what she had heard from another of Judgment. "I believe there is a gap in our schedule approaching," she said, as if it had only now occurred to her. "There is enough time to attend the lecture being given on changes in certain legal systems of Earth. Would you care to accompany me there?"

"Thank you," said Dedan, "but if there is time, I ought to speak with old companions." He bowed his head, and left them, launching into the air on bright wings.

"It is the nature of Cherubim to become attached," the Mercurian said, a little sadly, because she did not know how to help her new companion.

"It is the nature of Seraphim to speak the truth," said the Seraph, "and yet I manage to not speak of such things as are confidential."

"I do not attempt to excuse him," the Mercurian said, in a voice of mild reproach, "only to understand him."

"Well," said the Seraph, "that is true."

#

Dedan found the Malakite he had been searching for near the edge of the Grove, in the process of being snarled at by a few Servitors of War. Seeing no need to give polite space to insults, he said, "Have you a few moments to speak?"

"Certainly," said Nomikos, and bowed to the Servitors of War, then followed the Cherub away with no more concern for what was being said.

"I do not understand why you linger there," said Dedan, once they had moved out of earshot. "Of the three of us, you were assigned no new duties, and yet you spend your time letting them insult you?"

"I find it useful," Nomikos said.

"Useful? How are insults useful?"

"They show me a different perspective," said the Malakite. "Consider this. They believe Judgment should not interfere in the sins of their fellows, that they might police their own well enough. Do they believe that each Archangel ought to be its own final law, with no heed for the judgment of its peers? I do not think so. But this is the ultimate conclusion of what they argue. And so by listening to them, I gather another viewpoint on my own job."

"You _have_ no job," Dedan said, and his tail flicked, because it was an unkind thing to say to someone who had been his friend and coworker for so long.

"Not at the moment, no. I consider it an opportunity for learning things I would not have time to learn while occupied. But, come, Dedan, you didn't seek me out to criticize where I choose to walk. What did you want to speak of?"

"I feel," said Dedan, willing to show his unhappiness now, "that I have been punished for something which was not wrong. And yet, it is just, so I can only conclude I have sinned without realizing it. How can it be wrong for me to _care_?"

"It isn't wrong to care," Nomikos said. "Only to respond inappropriately to that caring, and all three of us were guilty of that." Six feet stepping through the grass between the two of them, as they skirted the edge of the Garden. Nomikos saw how Dedan turned his face away from those angels and souls who sat together in secluded places, and the Malakite frowned. "He's back on Earth now," he said, and there was no need to provide a reference for the pronoun, not between the two of them.

"Then he finally took Service with another. Though he never would before."

"No. Lightning offered him a vessel and Role in exchange for a period of work from him."

"How strange."

"Not so strange as you might think." Nomikos considered his next words for several steps, before speaking. "Kai's relationship with the Gifter complicates matters, and makes Lightning more inclined to assist him." He was watching the Cherub in expectation, and thus saw the shudder that passed over his friend. "Tell me, why does this bother you?"

"If it weren't for that demon, Kai would never have been put in such danger, nor lost the vessel and Role he was given."

"That demon is an angel, now."

"Nonetheless." Dedan shook his mane, and in this garden the light glittered off the motion in patterns that hovered briefly in the air before disappearing again. "Why does he continue to put his trust in those who don't deserve it?"

"I don't know, my friend. I am a Judge, and I give my trust where it's earned. But...you are _young_ , Dedan, and you weren't there in the days when Eli's Cathedral was one of the busiest in Heaven. There was a time when the Archangel of Creation was held in as high of esteem as the Most Just, and, let us be honest, he was admired by more." Nomikos stood still for a moment, and felt all the weight of his chains upon himself. "We have lost both Love and Laughter," he said, more to himself than to Dedan. "I can only pray we have not lost Creation as well. I can't begrudge trust or hope, even when I don't understand them."

"I cannot understand it. I cannot like it, nor even approve of it. The whole concept makes no _sense_ to me." The Cherub growled. "And now he is back on Earth, at the request of that Lilim, and the triad which visits him will not know how to protect him."

"It isn't their job to protect him, Dedan. We lost sight of that, but try to remember it." Nomikos rubbed his forehead, and took another approach,. "Being part of Judgment can be lonely. Some we speak to react with hostility, and we must remain unbiased in our duties. Strong attachments to those who serve other Archangels can cause problems. And yet, we are angels. We care for others. Balancing this can be _difficult_."

"I have never considered my position to be _lonely_ ," Dedan said, stiffly.

"No, of course not," said Nomikos, "but you may have felt it." The Malakite shook his head. "We should have asked that Kai's investigation be reassigned to another triad when we realized how much we looked forward to seeing him. But not one of us even suggested this. Why, Dedan?"

The Cherub said, after a time, "It was...pleasant, that someone not of Judgment would want to see us. Would look forward to our arrival. Considered us...friends." His tail flicked. "And now he is back on Earth, we will see him not at all. While a demon--oh, an angel now, but I cannot forget what he was--can speak with him any time. Is this fair?"

"It is _proper_ ," Nomikos said.

Dedan sighed, long and low. "I grow tired of being proper, of late."

The Malakite said nothing to this, but he remembered what his friend had said, and spent time in the Groves, walking past the Warriors, considering what he ought to do.


	10. In Which I Have More Fun Than Is Entirely Proper

Spend a few months in Heaven, and I lose my ability to act like everything is going fine when I'm screaming inside. I can manage not to do any actual screaming, but pacing is happening, and Maharang has been fetching coffee almost as fast as I can drink it. Zif watches me like I'm about to run down a Tether and do something stupid, which I am _not_ going to do, because there are competent people down there taking care of matters. I've been assured of this. Repeatedly. Sometimes when I haven't asked, Elohim come up to tell me that there are competent people down there taking care of matters. Nosha told me that I was giving it a headache, and left the room half an hour ago.

"We should leave soon," says Zif. We were supposed to leave an hour ago. They are indulging me by letting me wait, but they can only indulge so long, Lightning does not pause for a single worrying angel to settle down. "If you leave your phone with someone here, they will take messages, and deal with any other reported emergencies."

"Nice simple job," I say. I realize that I am repeating myself. Again. "A nice simple _safe_ job to do basic surveillance. In a city so boring even the Windies don't bother stopping there. How does this _happen_?"

"One cannot plan for every eventuality, Mannie."

"No, but one can bloody well _try_." I am not going to call and distract him when he's doing I don't know what, not going to risk a ringing phone if he needs to hide and of course he wouldn't think to turn it off, but he hasn't called back, and the Kyriotate taking care of clean-up has not reported back yet, and I am completely unable to focus on anything but the not knowing. "He needs a Cherub of his own, or a Malakite to follow him around, or...something."

"Kai is a full-fledged angel who has taken care of itself for decades, and who knows when it's time to call for help. If she had been in immediate danger when she called, she would have said so."

"But he could have run into something _since_ he called--"

"And he could have found Eli and gone off to have a long chat about ineffability over coffee and pastries, but we can't very well know, can we?" She is unbothered by my glare, damn her. "The point remains that you have a job to do, and fretting over this matter aids neither your assignment nor Kai."

Joseph sits silently by the wall. The only thing he said when he first arrived was that when he attuned to me he didn't realize I was going to be running back to Earth to play with demons quite so often, and he's been watching quietly ever since. I can't tell if he's sympathizing, or wishing we'd get on with this already.

The phone rings, but according to the display, it's not Kai. "Hello?" Talk quickly and stop tying up the phone.

"Cleanup progresses." The voice on the other end hiccups with static; the Kyriotate has found a radio or the like to use. "Three bodies as reported, one the resident of the apartment, the other two as yet unidentified. Flew over the area, found aforementioned Ofanite and one other, presumably human, returning to said angel's place of residence. No visible sign of injury on flyover. Happy now?"

"...ah. More or less, yes. Thank you."

"Then go do your damned job," says the Kyriotate, and the line cuts off.

I pass my phone on to Maharang, who's been hovering anxiously whenever he's not fetching coffee. "Would you take this to Nosha, and ask it to take care of it until I get back?" I'd trust that Elohite to handle almost any situation thrown at it, and to know who to fetch for what it couldn't manage itself. 

"Sure thing!" The reliever darts off, and I drain the last cup of coffee.

"Right, then. Where were we?"

"Waiting on you," says Zif.

"Yes, well. After that."

"Heading downstairs," she says, and I walk out of the room with my two Cherubim to meet the rest of the team. Again. The Malakite, Ezekiel, was cold when I first introduced myself, and he's since worked his way down to icy. The two Ofanim, Gamma and Strange, are debating quantum physics as they race up and down the hallway.

There's nothing that needs to be explained, which means everyone simply turns and heads in the right direction. I've always said I wanted more efficiency and functionality in my work, but it's strange, now that I have it. Ezekiel seems to think as much of me as Dedan did, but sees no need to waste time making snide remarks when there's a job to do. I'm used to a certain undercurrent of social maneuvering, or at least general unpleasantness, in the build-up to any assignment. Having people who dislike me move efficiently along is almost as strange as there being people who _don't_ dislike me.

A step down the Tether, and I'm shrugging back on the vessel I've had for so long. It's more familiar than wings. Ezekiel's vessel looks like an accountant, down to the glasses repaired with wire and pocket full of pens; the Ofanim wear vessels of two young women, so close to identical I couldn't tell them apart.

"So find them," Ezekiel says. Zif is nominally in charge of this game, but I don't think she'll speak up unless she considers it necessary. She has very precise definitions of necessary.

The Song of Affinity was the first song I learned, centuries back. Taught to me by a Free Sister in exchange for something I'd made as an experiment. She said the Song was the most useful I'd ever learn; I told her that what I made would get her out of an emergency or two. It turns out that both of us were right.

"That direction." I point, and the Ofanim scurry about with devices I would call GPS tracking units if I didn't know the coordinates being pulled up come from satellites not put up by any humans. "Not as far as I expected, though I couldn't give a precise estimate yet. More than ten miles, less than fifty."

"Didn't run far," says Ezekiel. "Wouldn't think they'd linger so near the Tether."

"Have you ever tried to move an entire laboratory overnight, without losing months of work? I think they ran as far as they could." Finding yourself in the midst of a midnight scramble is never fun. Many demons will claim they left behind nasty booby traps for scavengers; in my experience, we were usually lucky to get out of there with vital equipment and our own skins intact, when word of an incoming raid arrived before the angels did.

"I suppose you would know."

I could say something bland about how they did want my experience. I could also spend the next few hours bickering with a Malakite who's looking for the fight. So I follow Zif's example by shutting up.

The Ofanim do the driving, of course. Gamma slams around corners as gracefully as Kai, but she doesn't chatter. Zif spends the drive working on a PDA. I spend the drive glad they didn't put Ezekiel in the same car as me.

Three blocks away, I get out of the car, and Joseph frowns at me. "You would think," he says, "that after going to the trouble of having two Cherubim watching for you, Jean would not have you walk in the midst of demons quite so often."

"Look on the bright side," I say. "I'm used to it."

All the cold night air wrapped around me, and no one walking beside me. Tastes like freedom. As much of an illusion as what my Mother offered me when she first twisted my Forces together and pretended to offer me a choice.

Three blocks hasn't been far enough to clear my head as much as I'd like. I should have asked them to stop further away. I look up at the smudged spot at the top of the doorframe. They've done a shoddy job of hiding the wiring. "Let me in, Tina."

A distinct clunk as the lock releases. I don't push the door open; I'm not that stupid, even a Force short of what I used to be. After a moment, the door pulls back, and Tina peers around it, eyes wide. She's not bothering to wear her glasses, not when safely in the laboratory with demons who don't care if she's supposed to look the epitome of the adorable geek girl. "Mannie?"

"So you _do_ have a memory longer than that of a goldfish. Are you going to let me in, or do you want to stand there gaping?"

"Sorry, sorry..." She yanks the door all the way open, and sparks fly from up above. "Uh. I forgot to turn that off. Good thing it's still, um, exhibiting a need for further work on the design, right?"

"I see your work is up to the standards I've come to expect." I follow her down the corridor; they've run bulbs down the hallways with bare wire, shoddy and inefficient. They must have left in a hurry.

"It's...yeah, I'm..." Tina twitches along in front of me. "You should have seen the last artifact I worked up, it was, it was really _good_ , it...worked. Really well."

"Did it explode in anyone's face, or did they make you disassemble it?" Strange, that I'm not enjoying this. I used to.

"I...they, they made me take it apart. Yes. But I'll make it _better_ next time. It really did work." She throws me a look over her shoulder, trying for sly, entirely failing to reach it. "You know, I heard, I heard that you were, um, well. You know."

"Renegade?" I've practiced that tone on many an underling before. "Somehow, I'm not surprised that's the story he chose to spread."

"But I didn't believe it. I mean, it was stupid. Really stupid. To think that anyone would believe that, I mean. Because, well, you always did good--you always _do_ good work, everyone knows that." We pass unmarked doors, and doors labeled with numbers. "So of course I knew he was _lying_ , yeah, he would do that. I never once doubted you." She's working herself up into believing what she says, as she speaks. "It's good to have you back. I mean, you do good work, so it's good to have you around, because I know that means the project is going to work. Right?"

"I'm not here to take charge of the project, Tina. Looks like you're doomed to get by with whoever is currently in charge." The door we've reached is labeled with a large stenciled 1, and I can hear the whirr of a generator from inside. No, they wouldn't want to be tied to city power. "Or has that changed since I last heard? I've been busy of late, I can't keep up on every account of who's managed to get disassembled."

"No, no, it's still...yeah. It's still Loic." The little Balseraph stuffs her hands in her pockets. "Is, um, is that a good thing?"

"Sometimes, Tina, I have no idea why they let you run around on Earth. And then I remember it's because you make incompetent people look better." I roll my eyes. "Go watch the security cameras."

"Right! I, I can do that. I'm good at that." She flees back down the corridor. The Bal is a devious, scheming brat who would do anyone in if she thought it would get her a pat on the head from someone important, but she's not _good_ at it, and messing with her head is about as difficult as rewiring a toaster. I could almost feel bad about it.

Almost.

I rap once on the door, then walk in without waiting for an answer. A touch dangerous, but it shows confidence, which is what I need to display. At the far side of the room, next to the generator, a man jerks up from where he's studying plans, hand going for his pocket.

"To start with," I say, and don't let myself change the speed I'm walking, "the security here is pathetic, Loic. You're letting _Tina_ watch the security cameras? She'd let a hit squad of Malakim in if they smiled nicely and said they were here to deliver a package."

"What the fuck do you--" He's angry and confused, exactly where I want him.

"And to continue, this whole setup is third-rate. Bare light bulbs in the ceiling? You're going to be losing power all over the place with the wiring I've seen. Some allowances can be made for when a project needs to be moved overnight, but I'd expect--no, I wouldn't _expect_ better, but I'd expect better if I thought someone _competent_ were in charge of this sorry mess." I drop down into the chair in front of his desk. "In short, Loic, I'm not impressed. Tell me, should I be impressed? Am I missing something really _brilliant_ in the middle of this mess?"

"Who the fuck are you to walk in and start telling me how to run my project?" He stands up to shout. Not the most stable sort.

"Me, tell you how to run your project? Hardly. I don't have the time, patience, or inclination to sort out these little failings." I lean back in the chair, arms folded. Express confidence, casual disdain. "I'm only here for a few hours until it's time to head out again. Now, if you're not interested in some constructive criticism of your setup here, far be it from me to impose. I can sit here and _not_ comment on anything I've seen. Never let it be said that I'm not accommodating to a fellow Servitor of the Genius Prince."

Loic is still standing, but I've confused him enough that he's not trying to call anyone in. "No one told me you were coming," he says warily.

"Because of course when the Host shows up on your doorstep you make sure people have a few hours notice before you drop in," I snap. Let the mask drop, moment of anger, bring it back up, there we go. Back to complete calm. "I suppose next time I could stop and call ahead, to make sure you're _prepared_."

The demon sits back down. Slowly, but I don't see anything unusually shifty churning behind his eyes. I don't believe he's smart enough to know what's going on yet. "You didn't lead anyone _here_ \--"

"You think I've lived this long by acting like an idiot? Of course not. I know better than to lead the Host to any project, even _this_ one." The door opens behind me, and it takes a certain effort to neither blink nor turn to see who's coming in.

"Loic, I heard--" The woman behind me stops.

The voice is faintly familiar, so I take my own time in giving her a casual glance over my shoulder. No one I can place, but her expression says that she recognizes me. Which could be...suddenly inconvenient. Or not.

"Maharang," she says, and I think she's had to search for my name too. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"What, someone's been spreading tales?" I give her a small, nasty smile. "Ah, let me guess. You heard it from someone who heard it from Hari. Because we all know how reliable a source of information _he_ is."

"The information presented was...convincing," she says, and she doesn't move much closer inside the room.

"And what _do_ you think I would be doing? What entertaining theories do you have on where I've been lately?" She's silent, and if I let them think too long I'll have a problem, so I continue. "I suppose I could have gone Renegade, and then decided to walk back into a laboratory to turn myself in? You could call up someone in authority to tell you the truth of the matter, if you think they'd be happy to be have you bothering them. Or maybe you think I decided to run to Heaven and see if the angels have begun to accept Lilim in their ranks?" Let the both of them see a moment of irritation. "I would have expected more _competent_ lies out of Hari, really."

"You weren't there to say otherwise," says the woman, calmly enough. "But your point is well taken." She moves forward to stand near Loic, and hands him a sheet of paper. "The latest statistics. We're going to need to recalibrate; the move threw all of the previous calibrations off, and something about the new location means our old numbers aren't working."

"Still?" Loic stares at the paper he's been handed with the look of a demon who knows full well what sort of deadline is creeping up on him. "I am going to squeeze Cardamine until she shakes _something_ out of her little pet. The hardware we're working with isn't sufficient for our needs." The name he mentions is another nagging bit of distant memory; I'll spend time later trying to untangle it.

"The hardware is what we have to work with," says the woman, and I can hear the edge of tension from her as well. That move must have come on top of an already close deadline. "This is a _software_ problem, and that means we're the ones responsible--"

"I am not about to let this project be a fai--be less than sufficiently advanced and take the blame because that human can't deliver hardware that works well enough!" He crumples the bit of paper up. "Calibrate them _again_. And be more careful. Don't let that idiot Balseraph near them--"

"I know better than to let Tina anywhere _near_ the equipment--"

"Do you mind if I take a look?" The pause won't last long. I offer them my charming smile, the one I use when people know I'm a Lilim and realize that they need something that I have to offer. "You're on a deadline. I have a few hours to kill. If I could offer some assistance, we might...come to an arrangement."

The Needs I've been reading from them have nothing to do with this project, but I don't have to let _them_ know that.

By now, Ezekiel is probably frothing for the signal, and the Ofanim bored. But raids can shred information on accident, and we want to stamp this little project out thoroughly, don't we? So I let the two demons exchange meaningful looks.

Whenever I last worked beside this women, she must have noticed I was competent, because it seems she's the one throwing her support behind me. I wish I could remember who she was. "I doubt you'll be able to do anything useful," Loic says, grudgingly, "but a fresh set of eyes on the data wouldn't do any harm."

I strangle my hysterical laugh before it can escape, work it down into a polite smile. "Lead the way."

They've labeled the door 73 for some hidden internal reason; there can't be that many doors in the building. Loic takes nearly two minutes to deactivate all the security devices on the door, and I spent the time making snide comments about inefficient access to vital areas. The wiring is so screwy, no wonder they need their own generator to maintain proper power-flow.

And inside a large, clean room, well-lit, with a row of six humans strapped down on cots. "It's a small sample size," Loic explains, "which is _not_ helping with data collection, but we're working under time constraints." They each have a web of wires and machinery around their heads, all connected to an incongruously ordinary mainframe. The two other demons working in here don't even look up as we enter, focused on their diagnostic terminals.

"Why use humans here instead of damned souls, for the tests?" I ought to be appalled, or angry. Aren't angels supposed to be upset by these things? But I'm only struck by the distant thought that, oh, yes, I've done this sort of thing before, and I know how annoying working from a small data set can be.

"We want to affect brain waves remotely. Trying to extrapolate from the celestial to the corporeal would add a new variable to an already complex equation." Loic gestures at the consoles. "Take a look, see if _you_ can figure out what's keeping it from working properly."

"What errors are you finding in your data?" I examine the apparatus on the human nearest me, without touching it. Clumsy, hasty, dangerous. I wouldn't want to try boosting the current already pulsing through it.

"Anomalous reactions from the same stimulus, even from the same individual in the test group. This will be so much easier once it's advanced enough to do proper mass testing on more cooperative subjects."

"Ah. Of course." The human whose machinery I'm peering at is an old man, a scraggly beard grown up from where the demons haven't bothered to shave him. I'd guess he's been in their hands for two weeks, maybe more. "Do you have something I could take notes on?"

The woman hands me a pad of paper, a pen that tells me it's an artifact the instant I touch it. "You and your notebooks," she says. From anyone not a demon I would suspect that tone and look to mean fondness. Knowing her name, or where I worked with her before and for how long, would be useful right now.

"Thank you," I say. The wrong thing to say, I've fallen into the habit of casual civility, and it's too late to correct it. Loic has already moved away to speak with the other demons, but she's still close enough to have heard it.

She smiles, a little puzzled. "If you can make this work even a fraction better--"

"Then you'll owe me, yes." I shift behind the cots, drop one hand into my jacket pocket, and tap out a wait signal on the comm I'm carrying. "And could you tell them to stop _typing_ so loudly? I can't concentrate properly with the noise of a thousand unhappy keyboards rapping at me."

An hour later, I've found two ways to reduce energy consumption, four ways to reduce irregularity in results, and one way to suggest a change that will appear to increase results while slowly degrading the signal being fed through the sets. "I can only hope your security is better than your hardware design," I say, handing Loic the sheets of notes. "Did you remember to trap incoming lines?"

"Not _our_ hardware design," Loic says. "We'll get the traps up in a few more days. There's too much work to do here to bother with details like that. And we're more than prepared to handle anything that comes at us."

"So long as it doesn't come up to the back door and ask Tina to let it in?"

"How _droll_. No, we have other defenses than that. The plasma cannon--"

"Is in room four, and has fire concentration issues, judging by the marks I saw on the opposite wall."

"Well... yes. But it's extremely effective at close range."

"Which will do you well, so long as everyone who chooses to enter the facility consents to walking slowly down that hallway."

The door swings open, and Tina pokes her head in. She stands on the other side of the doorframe like someone who's been threatened with harm if she steps inside again. "Um, Loic? There's...um. There's someone at the door. Like. Um. Knocking? And she says, she says she's a friend of Mannie's, and would we mind letting her in? And, um, I'm not sure what to do, because I don't _recognize_ her, but I thought I should ask before shooting--"

"What does she look like?" I ask. They were _supposed_ to wait until I gave them the go-ahead signal. Of course, I was supposed to give the signal as soon as I'd gotten far enough inside to determine there were no nasty surprises waiting, so it's understandable that they've become...twitchy.

"Uh. Sciencey? She's a little taller than I am, kinda stocky, black hair, skin's pretty dark brown, no glasses..." Tinalle attempts to indicate height, build, and other pertinent details while leaning through the doorframe but not stepping forward, and nearly falls over. "Anyone you know?"

"Ah. I'd expected to meet her later, but she must have become impatient. Do let her in, why don't you?"

"Sure! Right on that, Mannie!" Tina disappears again before Loic can contradict what I've said.

"This is a _laboratory_ , not a, a safehouse." He's bristling up for a snarl. I would be doing the same if a stranger began walking through one of my projects, and bringing guests.

"I'll be out again in a few minutes." I give a pointed look to the papers he's holding. "If you don't _want_ my help, I'd be happy to withdraw the offer."

"No, it's..." He shakes his head. "You'll be done here soon?"

"No need to worry about that," I tell him. "I'll be gone in a few minutes."

Zif strides into the center of the room, leaving Tina at the door. "You're late," she says. "What's keeping you?" She can see all the cots easily enough, but her eyes stay on me.

"Nothing important. I believe I'm finished here. Are we ready to move on, then?"

She harrumphs. It's such a Djinnish sound, I can hardly believe she's making it. "Or as close to it as we'll come. Let's not waste any more time on _this_."

"Agreed." And because it wouldn't do to leave on a polite note, I add to Loic, "Perhaps _now_ you'll be able to get your bits of machinery to function properly?"

We walk out of the room while he's still trying to form a coherent, scathing reply. Tina escorts us back down the hallway, giving Zif curious looks all the way. "You're out doing important things," she says to me, as we step outside. "Like, um, I don't know _what_ , but...I mean, maybe I could do. Things like that too? Some day? Because they don't want me near the labs, but, um, if you needed help, or anything, I'm good at helping, really, and I'm _better_ since I last worked, uh, for you. Really. If you wanted to think about it?"

For one strange moment I feel like I'm listening to a twisted version of Maharang, asking if it can help me, deliver notes, fetch coffee. But the moment passes, and it's only Tinalle, who can't wash beakers properly and craves power the way an Ofanite craves speed. "At least you have enough sense to realize you're not suited to be a scientist," I say, "for what that's worth." And I walk away with Zif.

The instant we turn the corner Zif drops her slouch to walk along as primly as ever, and taps on her comm. "You were playing a dangerous game," she says to me. Disturbance begins to clatter through the Symphony, and audible explosions bang out from a block away, as two Ofanim slam into the laboratory through unprotected lines. Shoddy security. "It was _not_ the plan we had agreed to."

"Only a small variation," I say, "and now if too much of the equipment is destroyed, I can reconstruct most of it from memory, to analyze its function."

"You assume that other Sparkies would be careless and clumsy in an operation like this?"

"I, ah, didn't mean it like _that_."

"Nonetheless, it is what you're implying."

The disturbance echoes, overlaps, builds. The last time I was this near to a raid from Lightning, I was running the other way at the time, and hoping that surprises I left behind would perform correctly. "I am...not entirely accustomed to dealing with competent coworkers, yet." Bloody noisy coworkers, but competent ones.

"You are not accustomed to considering anyone not your superior to be competent, regardless of actual ability to perform a task."

"No, I suppose not." Two Ofanim and a Malakite of Lightning make a fair amount of noise, and I suspect the Cherub of Judgment is lending an enthusiastic hand. The whining yowl that streaks upward in pitch, and then turns into a massive crunch, must be the plasma cannon imploding. "Never did think those plasma weapons were a good idea. Too many bugs to make them worth the defensive use, to the point that they ended up as dangerous to us as to the, ah, enemy."

"A reasonable choice." Zif looks up at me. "Tell me, Mannie. How did you feel when you played the part of the demon you once were?"

"You always ask the difficult questions." I turn my hands over in front of me. Vapula gave me this vessel when he first sent me to Earth, and still I'm wearing it. Shouldn't I have lost all reminders of him, when redemption stripped away other excesses? "Terrified. Angry. And...powerful. I had a secret that they didn't know, to use against them. There's a certain thrill to this game."

In the darkness, a small figure staggering, running away. Zif steps forward; I put a hand on her shoulder. "And I can play this game again, if we let her go. Wherever she runs, I can find her again."

Zif weighs the potential benefits, and nods. "I had never considered fishing a useful hobby, but I begin to see the entertainment value of catch and release."

"...ah. Ha. Yes." I fold my arms around myself. I could use an Ofanite to linger near, right now. "You...would tell me, wouldn't you? If I were going too far..."

"I would take appropriate action if I believed you were tempted back towards your old life, yes."

"Appropriate action. Ah. You always know how to make me feel better." I close my eyes and wait in the cold night for my competent coworkers to finish their job. 

Joseph is the first back, followed shortly by the Ofanim. One of them, I can't tell which name she belong to, holds one hand to a gaping wound in her side, so I take care of that, and then move on to Joseph's limp. Ezekiel finally appears when I'm finishing up on a more successful second attempt at the Song. "Missed one," he says, and turns to Zif. "I can follow and take care of it quickly enough--"

"No," says Zif, "we're letting that one get away. We can follow her again to another hiding place, as needed. What about the humans in there?"

"The Kyrio is taking care of them," says the Ofanite I just healed, and I didn't know we even had a Kyriotate around to help. "Moved in as soon as we'd figured out there weren't any Force-catchers cluttering up the place. We freed one, and it's using that host to get the others loose."

"Letting it get away," Ezekiel repeats. "It's a _demon_ , Zif, we can't let it run loose."

"It's a pathetic little Balseraph who, in my experience, does more damage to her coworkers than her coworkers," I say. "If it would make you feel better, though, I can find her again, and Geas her to close her eyes and stand still so that you can get a clear shot."

I usually don't find Malakim amusing, but being glared at by an angry accountant whose hands are dripping blood is so peculiar it's funny. "And does it bother you that we're slicing up your old coworkers?"

"I didn't like demons when I _was_ one. What makes you think redemption would change that?" Look into his eyes, and I discover that angels continue to Need the strangest things. "I don't think I can help you with that," I say, realizing a moment afterwards that it was out loud. I _have_ lost all my internal controls, around angels.

"Stop /doing/ that," he snarls. "I don't need any Lilim trying to decide what I want--"

"And I could do without Malakim walking up to me and dredging up what I've done in the past," I say, "but I don't see that stopping them."

"Hush, both of you," says Zif. "We need to move." Somewhere in the midst of the discussion the Ofanim have brought the cars around. She examines the two of us, and then says, "You can continue the discussion on the way, if you'd like."

I could also have done without finding myself in the back seat with an annoyed Malakite. I'd rather be sitting next to Kelly again; I know how to predict her reactions.

"You're not much of angel," Ezekiel says. "From what I heard, it didn't sound like you had any trouble convincing _them_ you hadn't changed."

"Would you really have preferred it if I'd botched the act entirely and gotten myself shot?" He opens his mouth, so I continue, "No, don't answer that. I'd like to _pretend_ that the people I'm working with don't want to see me dead. For the change of pace."

"Trying to get you killed? Hardly. But I don't think you deserve to be involved in these sorts of operations."

"You don't think I deserve to be in Heaven at all." I close my eyes again. I don't want to see inside anyone's head right now. "I should introduce you to Dedan. The two of you could sit around talking about how much of a failure I am."

"I don't intend to waste any more time on _you_ than I have to."

"Probably wise." I ought to let the conversation drop. Zif would approve of the restraint. "It would be my luck to end up in a car with a Calvinist."

"...a _what_?"

I don't open my eyes to see his expression, nor do I allow myself to smile. "A Calvinist. Believer in predestination. Before you ever existed, it was decided if you were chosen for salvation, or doomed to damnation, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it either way. The predestined will know, and will prove it through their works; those who aren't are inevitably lost. I imagine _someone_ finds that sort of doctrine comforting. Largely the ones who know they're the predestined, though I can see those who consider themselves to be damned believing that they can't be blamed when God himself chose them to be the way they are."

"That's something of an extremist view of the doctrine," says Gamma, from the driver's seat. "I didn't know you studied theology."

"Not really. It came up in a conversation with Kai, once." The two of us spent three hours discussing free will, ineffability, and religion, on a long stretch of highway between stops, with him quoting Shakespeare as often as religious texts to back up his points.

"Kai? Oh, your Ofanite. I like that one. Spoke with it once when it was whirling around outside your office waiting for you to finish something. Not, um..." She searches for a polite way to put it. "Not very much a _Lighting_ sort, no, but well able to hold up its side of a conversation. And properly fast."

"Well, that's a proper angel for you." I risk a glance at Ezekiel, but he's staring out the window. "And where I got the idea in the first place."

He's quiet enough for the rest of the drive back to the Tether, though it's no pleasant silence on his part. I like Malakim much more when they shut up and stick to killing demons.


	11. In Which The Ratio Of Demons To Angels Is Unfortunate

I had to borrow another skirt from Sharon, seeing as they one I was going to use is torn, bloody, scorched, and dirty. I wouldn't feel out of place wearing it to certain parties, but it's probably not appropriate work attire. The skirt she loaned me has abstract fish pictures all along it, and while it doesn't swirl as nicely as the other, ought to work well enough for emergency running. The sandals, now, those aren't going to do so well if I need to run. Here's to hoping that if an emergency comes up, I have car keys in hand.

When I reach the office the door is locked. Weird. I knock twice, then pace up and down the hallway when there's no answer. After five minutes, I pull out my phone, and dial the office number. I can hear ringing from inside, but no answer. If someone came by to off my employer last night, nobody told me. 

Fifteen minutes past the hour, and I'm about ready to call Mannie to find out if someone _did_ decide to stop by the office and no one's gotten around to letting me know yet, when Chad steps out of the elevator. "Morning, Megs!" he says. "Sorry I'm late. Hope you weren't waiting long."

"Not too long," I say, and follow him inside. "Maybe I ought to get a key, so that I can let myself in if you're not here. I heard the phone ringing from outside."

"Probably just telemarketers. Nothing to worry about." His steps are downright jaunty, and he barely pauses to frown at the hole in the door to his office. "Did you get the reservations set up?"

"Twelve-thirty, nice place, party of four," I say. "The people to repair the glass will be coming by at ten, and say they can have it finished within an hour if you don't need anything _written_ on the glass, so if the clients are stopping by the office first, it should be fixed by then."

"You are a _wonder_ , Megs." He puts a hand on my shoulder as I sit down at the desk. I could get a pen through that hand before he had a chance to move it away, but I bet the Sparkies would be grumpy about me blowing my cover. I'm supposed to be discreet, observing, and, as Mannie took the time to point out, not confronting anyone. Probably a good idea when I don't know the territory or situation, but I'm more used to addressing demons directly when they come up. "You've been doing great work. I'll have to make it up to you sometime."

"Hey, it's not like you've been giving me anything too tricky to do," I say. Give me access to information already. "I mean, honestly, I'm twiddling my thumbs half the day. If there's any work you can toss in my direction to make things easier for you, just let me know."

"I'll keep it in mind," he says. Hand _still_ on my shoulder. "But for today, let's concentrate on getting through the meeting."

"Sure thing, Chad." 

He heads back into his office to let me get to my theoretical work.

A hum of Essence being spent makes me look up from where I'm scrubbing the microwave, for lack of anything better to do, but I don't hear any unusual noises. He's only pushing Essence towards doing his job better, the way any human coming up on a deadline might. And again, and again even louder... He's blowing Essence like someone who's awfully concerned about results. 

When two men show up to install a new pane of glass, Chad steps out to talk with them, full of congeniality. They respond in kind, smiling back at him when they pack their tools up. He shakes hands with one of them as the man leaves, and if I can't see the Essence being sucked out, I can imagine it. Impudite through and through.

And because I'm being _good_ , I keep rearranging the supplies cupboard, then go to tidy up the repair grime. I don't do a damn thing about Chad. I hate working like this. This job cannot end quickly enough.

At noon, Chad sends me running down to the convenience store to pick up a bottle of water and a pack of caffeine pills. The woman behind the counter smiles as I spin in. "See," she says, when I bring the items to the counter, "boys like skirts. You are very pretty now."

"Thanks." I give her another spin, because it will make her happy. "How's your day been?"

"Good, good," she says. "And now better. You will come in much now?"

"I'll try." Once I finish with this job, I can take a few weeks in this city to do things the Boss would like. For one, I need to make sure Sharon's set up with some way of reporting to an angel who knows what's going on. I wonder if she'd want to move to Arizona and take up teaching in a community center.

I take the stairs up to the office instead of the elevator, to give me a chance to run. Three stairs at a time all the way to the top. It's nearly enough to put me in a good mood. I do a quick spin in the hallway, step into the outer office. "Chad? Got the stuff you wanted."

The door to his office opens, and Chad steps out next to--oh, _fuck_. A human I recognize. Ed, the mumbling man with a start-up from Los Angeles. Which means that the blond woman behind him is...Candi. Lilim of Technology. Of course.

None of them are looking at me when they step out, involved in a superficial flurry of greetings and asking after each other's health, business, I don't know why they're all bothering to pretend it's a friendly meeting, so I have enough time to compose my face before Chad turns in my direction. "Megs!" He smiles at me. I manage a smile back. If I hadn't agreed to this job, I could get her somewhere private, and let her know how angry I am about what she made me do back in Los Angeles. Please, please let me have a chance to do something to her before she flies back, because I don't think even I'm stupid enough to hunt through that city for a demon. "This is my assistant, Megan. Megs, these are the clients I was talking about, Candi Smith and Ed Hastings."

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Smith, Mr. Hastings." I shake hands briefly with Ed, who looks at my chest then turns away, and then Candi, who's wearing garishly decorated sunglasses.

"Oh, aren't you a sweetheart," Candi purrs. There's something about the way she says it that makes me nervous, underneath all the anger I'm trying to suppress. "I remember you from over the phone." She turns the handshake into linked arms, and it's all I can do not to pull away. "Ed, baby, why don't you ride with Chad to this restaurant, and Megan here can show me the way in the rental? You two can talk business, and we can get in some girl talk." She pats my arm as she speaks, and forget smiling, I'm using as much self-control as I have to not hit her right now.

Chad actually frowns, and if I weren't in the middle of this, I'd enjoy watching him try to come up with a reason why this is a bad idea. I wish he _could_ come up with a reason, but he says, "Sounds like a plan. We'll meet you at the restaurant."

"Perfect. See you there." Candi kisses Ed on the cheek, and then walks briskly off to the elevator, not letting go of my arm. "You know how it is," she says to me, in a faux-confidential low voice, "sometimes you need to let the boys do their thing together, and get out of the way for a while."

"...their thing?" I don't want to talk to her. I am alone in an elevator with someone I want to kill and I have to be _polite_. If this is a test from God, God apparently has the same sense of humor as certain Windies I know.

"Oh, you know. They can be so _competitive_." I'm not sure Ed has a competitive bone in his body, and I think Chad and Candi would have been shouting already if it weren't for people watching. "But now it's just us girls, and we can talk about more interesting things."

I manage to make it all the way down to the lobby without hitting her. Go me. I'm going to need to schedule a few hours later on to scream my head off, or find something _extremely_ fast to drive, to relieve the stress I'm building up.

The instant we step outside I slip my sunglasses on, now that I have sunlight as an excuse. "Where's the car?"

"Right over here." Parked in a marked handicapped spot. Now that's just _petty_ , even for a demon. She pulls out the keys as we walk over, and _still_ , her arm hooked around mine. "Are you good at giving directions?"

"Actually, it would be easier if you let me drive," I say. "If you don't mind?"

"Not at all, sweetheart." She passes the keys over.

I do not jump in the car and drive far, far away. Much as I want to. I even wait for her to close the door on her side before pulling into traffic.

"So, Megan, how long have you been working for your boss?"

Decades, for my Boss. But she's only talking about Chad. "Only a few days, Ms. Smith. The temp agency sent me by."

"And how do you like him so far?"

"Oh, he's pretty nice." Compared to her. "The work's easy, and he's not the unreasonable sort or anything." Except for when he throws telephones through windows. I slam through a yellow light right as it's turning red. "Oops. Sorry about that..."

"No need to apologize, sweetheart." She won't stop smiling, and it's getting on what few nerves I have left that weren't already twitching. "So what were you doing before you ended up here?"

"Um. Went to a community college, got my Associates degree, and...that's about it. I've had a pretty boring life." A life which continues to be boring, with the restrictions put on it. How do angels who go into deep cover near demons for decades _manage_ this? Okay, so last night wasn't boring, but last night wasn't discreet either, and it's only the chance that the disturbance was near enough for me to hear that kept me from spending another eight hours pacing in my apartment.

"And what do you want out of life, Megan? Everyone has ambition, dreams..."

"I don't know, Ms. Smith. It's kinda early to have figured that out, isn't it? Still plenty of time to see where I end up. This job's a temporary thing, until I decide what I really want."

"I think you have real potential, Megan." That's not sincerity I'm hearing in her voice, I don't know what I _am_ hearing, but I don't like it. Surely she hasn't figured out who I am yet, or she wouldn't be sitting there so calmly. She plucks a business card out of her dainty little purse. "When you're done in your current job, why don't you give me a call sometime? We should be able to work out a way to put you on the fast-track to success."

"You really think so?"

"Oh, I know it, Megan. I mean, look at me. I started out with nothing more to my name than the clothes on my back, no help from family or friends, and a few years later I have a nice house, an adoring boyfriend, a _very_ nice paycheck, and if I'm bored where I am? I can fly to Europe for a weekend to try the air over there. You could have that too, some day."

I pull up in front of the valet station outside the restaurant. "That's pretty impressive, Ms. Smith. But I don't know if I could manage that. I'm not the ambitious sort." I hate to give the keys away. I could have driven somewhere private before she knew to suspect anything, and--no. Discreet. I am being _discreet_. Mannie asked me to do one simple job for him, and what kind of angel am I if I can't handle this?

"You can do all sorts of things with the right friends," Candi says. "Don't lose the card."

"Oh, I won't." If nothing else, I can swing by Los Angeles with Jack and some of his friends, track down the address of the phone number listed on the card, and pay Candi a personal visit before zooming out of town again.

Our reservations are on the roof-top patio; I called back to make sure last night, once I found out I'd be sitting near a Lilim. Once the server's escorted us all to our table, I make sure to grab a chair in the sun. No reason to take off the sunglasses now. Candi kisses Ed, gives Chad a smile so sweet she _must_ be smug about something, though I'm not sure what, and sits next to me, across from Chad. "Megan's a good driver," Candi says. I wish I could read what she's communicating in that sugary tone. "You ought to let her drive more often, so long as you have that cute little sports car."

"I told you I could handle a stick," I say, and Chad blinks at me.

"No doubt." He's trying to be charming, suave, confident. If I hadn't seen him projecting those better before, I'd even say he was succeeding. So that's the way this power dynamic plays out. I never analyzed demonic power structures before; it was pretty much find the demon, determine if the demon was reasonable, and if reasonability wasn't happening, employ items at hand to convince the demon it shouldn't be mucking about in my town. "Candi, babe, let's get down to business."

I flick on the recording on my phone, and try to enjoy the meal.

The food is good, though not good enough to justify the prices. The rooftop allows for a gorgeous view of the city, with twisting vines climbing from their pots across trellises all across the patio, making every table a private nook. With better company, I'd like the place. Even Mannie wouldn't find a reason to complain about the service.

The company, unfortunately, couldn't get much worse without sticking a Shedite inside of Ed. (I'm reasonably sure he's not carrying any rider; he's too mumbly-passive about things to seem like someone who's being corrupted.) Chad and Candi toss back and forth details about the project, all the information too technical or too vague for me to follow. I hope Mannie can pull what he needs out of the recording. If he tells me tonight that it's enough and I can pack up to leave, I could catch Candi before she flies out of town.

Between lunch and dessert, Candi pushes her chair away from the table to stand up. "I need to visit the little girls' room," she says, and looks at me pointedly. Isn't that whole thing about women always visiting the bathroom together only a stereotype? "Let's give the boys a little time to discuss _confidential_ details," she adds in a mock whisper, when I don't stand up to join her.

I throw Chad a desperate look. He only shrugs. What have I done to deserve this? So I follow Candi away from the table, while Ed mumbles something over to Chad.

"Those are cute sunglasses," Candi says to me, as we walk together. At least she hasn't grabbed my arm again. "But you have such pretty eyes, you shouldn't cover those up all the time."

"My boyfriend thinks they look good on me," I say. How long are we expected to linger in the restroom anyway? This one has an entire little antechamber with couches and magazines before the bathroom proper. I'm _doomed_.

"Oh, you have a boyfriend? What does he do?"

"He's a mechanic. Back in the city I came from."

"Those long distance relationships are so difficult to keep up," Candi says, shaking her head in what's probably supposed to look like sympathy. "You know, you could do much better than that."

"He's a nice guy." Okay, so he's arrogant, easily irritated, not so kind as he ought to be, and a workaholic, but in an _endearing_ way. Mostly.

"I'm sure he is, but sweetheart, nice guys are a dime a dozen." We stand in front of the mirror so that she can touch up her makeup. I'd always thought Lilim Techies were hackers; this one must be branching out. "You can't let sentimentally drag you down. That's a mistake so many people make."

I should have left my phone back at my seat, somehow, to record the conversation there; this one isn't going to do the Sparkies any good. "Mm. Do you think they're done with the confidential stuff yet?"

"Oh, let's give them a little time." She has such a pretty smile. She works for Vapula, so she must be smart. I could see her in Heaven, all her twisty games turned towards something _useful_ , and...what a waste. What a waste of people and minds and resources, turned and twisted for Hell. I let her lead me back to the couches in the first room, sit down beside her. "Now," she says, sitting back comfortably on the couch, "tell me, how would you like to come to Los Angeles and make some _serious_ money?"

"...um. How?" I could get a good vessel-kill before she could make any serious noise, using the magazines and the vase of dried flowers. I could also completely blow my cover, and make Mannie's life that much harder. Why couldn't they have sent an Elohite to do this job? Elohim are great at reacting in _reasonable_ ways. I just want to hit things and run.

"Working for me, of course." She pats me on the knee. "Megan, I like you, and I think you have real potential. Ed's business is expanding, and the work I used to do, well, I'm too busy to take care of it now. I could use an assistant of my own."

"You only just met me." Why is she doing this? Is it a way of annoying Chad, or--oh. Impudites of Technology have glasses that read how much Essence someone is carrying, and there's no reason why a Lilim of Technology couldn't acquire the same. I do a frantic inventory, and realize I have six notes of Essence at hand. Thank God for blowing some last night, or I would have been in real trouble when she saw me. But most humans can't hold six notes. No wonder she's paying all this attention to me.

"Sometimes you get a feeling about someone, and have to trust it," Candi says. She has very white teeth. "I've learned to trust my instincts on these sorts of things."

"I have a lease--"

"I could help you out with moving expenses quite easily. I'm sure your landlords wouldn't mind if you paid the usual fees."

"And a car--"

"We can get you a _new_ car, Megan. You need a car to get anywhere in Los Angeles anyway."

Okay, so that's the first really tempting thing she's said. Not that it matters. I'm here for a short job, not for deep cover, and I wouldn't keep my cover for long with as many demons as that city holds. I search desperately for another reason to throw out. "I'm working for _Chad_ right now, Ms. Smith--"

"Call me Candi, Megan."

"...Candi. And I can't leave him without a receptionist just like that!"

"We're here for a few more day, Megan. I'm sure he could arrange for someone else from the temp agency in that time."

"...do you mind if I think about it?"

"Of course not! Take your time." She stands up, offers me a hand with pointed red nails to help me up. "It's a big decision, but you could really go far, working for me."

"I'm sure I could, Ms.--Candi."

When we get back to the table, Ed's talking in an animated manner. "So when I realized that the hardware was going to need to be integrated easily into older systems, I had them start scaling back the RAM requirements until we could get these into any cheap off-the-shelf blank box." He stops as Candi and I approach, and then he's mumbling into his dessert again.

Despite everything, I enjoy the key lime pie.

Back at work, Candi and Ed spend another four hours in Chad's office, without so much as a slightly raised voice to be heard. I spend the time uploading the phone's recording to whoever's analyzing it. I hope I didn't sound like too much of an idiot in my conversation with Candi. I know I'm not as smart as Mannie, or most anyone who works with Lightning, but I'd hate to come across as dumb. When the two clients leave, Candi gives me a smile on the way out. I think several rude words in her direction, and smile back.

And then the door is closed, and Chad's standing next to my desk, looking nearly as tired as he must feel. "So how did it go?" I ask.

"Better than it could have gone." He runs a hand through his perfectly mussed hair, leaving it more naturally messy. "What did you think of them?"

I decide on something close to honesty. "I think that Candi--Ms. Smith was pressing really hard for me to move to Los Angeles, and that's kinda weirding me out. I haven't done anything impressive enough for her to offer me the stuff she is."

"Really." Chad looks down at me. "And what did you say?"

"That I have a job here already, Chad. And that I'd think about it."

He nods slowly. "That was...a good idea, Megs. A really good idea. Believe me, you don't want to end up working for her. She's difficult enough to deal with as a client." He puts that hand on my shoulder, and at least it's not so bad as having _her_ touch me. "If she offers you anything... Say no nicely, and let me know, okay? You don't want to end up in debt to her."

"I wasn't planning on taking anything. I just figured she'd stop bothering me about it if I said I was thinking about it. You don't get that kind of job offer without some sort of a catch."

"Smart girl." His hand squeezes my shoulder. "Listen, I'm going to be working on some of what they've dumped in my lap all evening. If you're interested in earning some overtime, we could do another hour here, then grab dinner, get in a few more hours tonight... What do you think?" He's reacquired his charm. "You did say you wanted something more to do, and Megs, I have _plenty_ for you to do."

A better chance at looking at the details of this project? That's an easy decision. "No problem. How late do you think it'll go?"

"Hard to say. But if it goes too late, we can both take tomorrow morning off. The next meeting scheduled is another lunch one."

True to his word, Chad brings out files, folders, sheer heaps of data for me to work on. It's mostly sorting and number crunching, everything labeled with strange incomprehensible names, but it's _data_ , and that is what I was asked for. I copy the computer files to emails sent to the addresses I was given, deleting the contents of my 'sent' folder after each one, and get in an occasional phone snapshot of the papers whenever Chad's door is closed.

We visit the Italian restaurant again for dinner, and this time we do have to wait a few minutes for a seat, though the hostess at the front keeps apologizing to Chad. He keeps the conversation light, talking about what he saw this morning driving through the city before work; I tell him about the game I played at the arcade, omitting mention of what happened afterwards. We finish off with a discussion of old horror movies and westerns. Chad sounds appreciative, interested, amused, and sympathetic in all the right places. He does know how to work people, doesn't he? Even knowing what he is, I'm in a better mood by the end of the meal.

Out in the parking lot, he slides into the driver's seat. "You'll have to let me drive sometime," I say, buckling myself into the other seat.

"You like the car, don't you."

"I drive a _Daewoo_ , Chad. It won't go over seventy. Half the mechanics haven't even heard of it. Of course I like your car." I'd like a motorcycle better. I wonder if getting one when I hit my old job again would be too suspicious. I'm not sure how long they're going to watch for me there, or if they've already given up on and moved on to other things. Mannie would have a better idea of what to do. He takes a different turn than I'd expected him to. "The office is the other way..."

"Megs, the both of us have been stuck in that office for too long. Why don't we finish up the rest of this work back at my place? I can tell you've been getting sick of staring at the same four walls too, and it'll be a hell of a lot easier to think straight in a more comfortable environment. What do you say?" He offers me a grin. "I'll even let you drive on the way back."

"When you put it that way..." I lean back with one arm hanging out the side to enjoy the wind. "Do you have enough files at your place to give us something to work with?" There's a fair chance he keeps the more sensitive information outside of his office. And I'd agree that staring at those walls for another few hours would be so far below entertaining it's practically un-Media-like.

"Plenty to work with, Megs." He laughs. "You know, I thought you were going to hit that woman if she called you 'sweetheart' one more time."

"Did that show? I was trying to be, well, polite, seeing as they're clients of yours and all..."

"Don't worry about it, Megs. You kept it marvelously under control. And don't worry too much about Candi; she's only trying to seduce you off to Los Angeles because you're working for me. She ought to lose interest soon."

We've left the center of the city to drive towards one of the more upscale areas of town. He handles the car decently, but if only I were behind the wheel... Probably better that I'm not; I'd have a hard time coming back here to finish the job. "Have you known her for very long, then? I thought Ed was the one who owned the company, but Candi seemed like she was an old...um. Friend, I guess. Or coworker. Something like that."

"We've run into each other on occasion," Chad says, and uses his right arm to wave away the question. "She has a competitive streak a mile wide, that's the problem. Even working together on a project, she can't help but try to one-up everyone in sight. Definitely not someone you'd want to work for."

"You don't have to worry about that, Chad. I'm not about to run off on a single shady offer from a person I've met once." Not until I'm told this job is over. They said no longer than two weeks, but these few days have already felt like weeks. "Oh, hey, I ought to call my boyfriend. Usually I call after I get home from work, and he might be getting worried." I dig out the phone from my bag. "Just to let him know I'm working late."

The phone picks up on the first ring. "Kai--"

"Hey, Mikey! It's Megan," I chirp, loudly enough to cover anything else he might be saying that could spill over. "I'm working late tonight, but I'll call you when I'm done, okay?"

A short pause. "Understood," he says, not happily. "I'll, ah, catch you later, then."

"Right. Don't wait up for the call, okay? This might take a while. Love ya." I snap the phone closed. "Hey, is that your house?"

"All mine," says Chad, as we pull into the driveway. It's a gorgeous three-story house done up in a style popular back in the 1920s, maybe even a decade earlier; I'd have to pull out my books on architecture to check. Wait, my books on architecture went up in flames when my old apartment was burnt. I'll have to find _new_ books, then, and look it up. There's a long porch in front done up in arches, leaded glass windows, a brick chimney in the back. "Paid it off with a few contracts..."

"It's beautiful." I'd love to live in a house like this. There's history to those walls, labor done with real craftsmanship. By the looks of it, a proper attic and a cellar, old-fashioned gables, a backyard that could be a garden with a little work.

"Picked it up for a song when the previous owner died, and his children didn't want the hassle of splitting up ownership. Some might say it's big for just one person, but how could I resist a house like this?"

"I know I couldn't." The air inside the house has the smell of a place that's not used often; I think he has been working most nights at the office. How much of a Role does he bother to keep up? There aren't many people who'd ask questions about a one-man marketing company. Every item inside, from carpet to curtains, looks like a picture in a glossy magazine, not a place that's lived in. A house this big ought to have children sliding down the banister and a surly teenage band practicing in the basement.

For the first time, it occurs to me that this probably-Impudite has been working on a single project, alone in his office, for who knows how long. No wonder he hired a temp receptionist. People who need people have issues when they're stuck in an office alone for long stretches. Kinda like an Ofanite holding down a desk job.

"My home office is upstairs," Chad says, and leads the way up. The banister is lovely, smooth, perfect for sliding down, and with serious filigree work along the support poles. The person who did the interior design should've gone for a homier look, instead of trying so hard to push this house into elegance. For all that this house is enormous, it's also meant to be comfortable. "When I first bought this place I thought of moving my business in here, but I prefer to have a professional office for when clients are visiting. But it's good to have the option for a change of scenery, isn't it?"

"Definitely." His office is also a bedroom, a wide room with a big, curtained arched window looking out over the back yard. "That must be a great view in the mornings."

"What? Oh, right. I'm usually too busy in the mornings to take it in, but it's a lovely view." Chad moves over to the desk, and begins sorting through files in the drawer. "Might as well kick off your shoes, this is going to take a while. Due to a hard drive crash a few months back, all of this information is only available in hardcopy, and cross-referencing it is going to be fun."

I take off the loathsome sandals, drop down onto the couch across from the desk, and accept the first folder that he hands me. "What am I looking for?"

"This line, here," he says, and leans over me to point out a line on the first page inside the file. "The first run through, pull everything with four hundred thousand or higher. Once we have all those sorted out, we can begin checking them against the category listings, and then... Well, one thing at a time, right?"

"What fun." I fold my legs beneath me and begin going through the files.

An hour later, I've worked through half the stack. I set the folder down, stand up, and blink at the dark window. "You know how I said I wanted more to do? I'm going to take that back, right now."

"Are you okay, Megs? We can take another break, if you're having trouble." He steps in to stand behind me. "There's a lot to go through, but we can take it a little at a time."

"Just restless." I was not made to sit in rooms. I've been moving since my Forces first came together, dancing since my Boss sent me down to Earth, and this is...not what I do. "Give me a few minutes and I'll be fine." I will not be fine, but this is only uncomfortable. I can put up with a bit of discomfort for the sake of the job I was given. No chains holding me back if I have to run.

His hand on my shoulder. I'd read it as a subtle sign of dominance, that he's taller than me and in a position of authority, except that he seems to use the gesture in circumstances that call for comfort. Maybe the touch is supposed to reassure him, not me. "Relax," he says, "you're doing a great job."

Oh, brilliant job that I'm doing, right. I'm distracted six ways from Sunday, I can't even understand the information I'm passing on, and I can't hit _anyone_. "If you say so."

"I say so." Both hands on my shoulders now, and he turns me around, taps me on the nose with one finger. "Megs, you really need to relax."

I was expecting this, sooner or later. A wash of emotion, far gentler than anything a Habbalite throws, spreads through my mind. He's trying to Charm me, and I ought to fight back... No, it's only that I'm tired, and in a bad mood, and when he holds me it's so comfortable. "I am so _tired_ of paperwork," I mumble into his chest. "No offense, but I hate this job."

"Don't worry, Megs. I don't hold that against you." I can feel the Essence draining out of me, no matter that I'm spending it on nothing myself. So that's what it feels like when an Impudite has you charmed. I can't find it in myself to mind. I needed someone's arms around me, and he's doing that nicely. "You are...something else, Megs." Six notes of Essence; hardly typical for a human. So now he knows as much as the Lilim did. But Chad's not about to drag me off to a city full of demons.

"Mm. If you say so." I sigh against his chest. "I probably shouldn't have taken the job. But I needed--"

"Shush, Megs." He kisses me, it's not at all the way other angels have kissed me before, not even the way Mannie does. "Let's get more comfortable--"

"Wait, wait." I take a step back, into the window, curtains sleek beneath my hands as I try to steady myself. "I...shouldn't be doing this." Chad's great, but my triad's going to pull me back to Heaven so fast I'd leave a puff of smoke in my wake if I go to bed with a _demon_ , and one I'm supposed to be investigating at that. Everything is suddenly so _complicated_.

"There's nothing to worry about, Megs." He pulls me back in, and there's nothing wrong with kissing, right? "We both just need a bit of a break. Stop _thinking_ about it so hard."

"Thinking isn't what I'm best at anyway," I say. I do like the way he's holding me, though I'm not sure my triad would approve of the direction his hands are moving. "It's only that I don't think this is a good idea. Makes things weird." Reporting on Chad without him knowing it wouldn't be right, and--

Damn him.

I step back back. Not shaking. I am not shaking. So far as he knows I'm still just Megan Moore, a human with six Forces, someone worth holding onto but not one who knows anything. "No," I say. Keep my voice even. I'm not good at this. "A bad idea."

The bastard tries to Charm me again. I can't believe I let him do that before, and this time he's not managing it. He wears a puzzled smile. "Megs--"

"No. Stop right there. This is _not_ happening." I can walk in a mostly straight line. I will not blow my cover. I will not do anything that shows what I am, no matter how much I want to demonstrate how lethal paper cuts can be. I find my sandals, lousy for walking, and put them back on. "I am _working_ for you. Not sleeping with you. I have a boyfriend, to start with, and I believe I _mentioned_ that, when you asked."

"Oh, come on, Megs, don't get so upset over--"

I spin around and jab one finger in his chest. Take a certain amount of pleasure in watching him take a half step back from the force. "No. I am going _home_. And tomorrow morning I'm going to pretend this never happened. Understood?" I head out the door before he can respond.

He catches up to me at the bottom of the stairs. "Megs, stop for a minute." He grabs my arm. I could slip out of his grasp, but that might show more than I want to. So I stand there and glare at him. "Look, it's late at night, and you're in a strange neighborhood, you don't want to just walk out--"

"I can find my own way home." I could use a very long walk to work out what's going through my head. "Let go of me."

"Megs--"

"If you want me to show up tomorrow morning, let go of me _now_."

I pull my arm out of his hand, now that he's not holding on tightly. "You're overreacting," he says quietly.

"Maybe so. And tomorrow I'm pretending this whole thing didn't happen."

"I'll give you a ride home--"

"I'd rather walk."

"That's _miles_ , Megs."

"I could use the exercise." I've reached the front door; he's given up trying to hold on to me, instead keeping slightly in front of me so that it's hard to walk forward without running into him. "Good _night_ , Chad." I open the door.

"Good night, Megs," he says. Reaches out for me, then pulls his hand back. "Look, I'm sorry--"

"I don't want to talk about it." The driveway's been paved recently, smooth beneath my feet.

I think he's standing in the doorway for a while yet, but I don't give him the satisfaction of turning around to look.

Half a mile away, I finally pull out my cellphone. How nice, they've provided a blue backlit display to make it easy to use in the dark. I stab my way through the menus until it starts ringing.

"Hello?" Mannie's being more cautious now.

"Mannie? You know how I told you I hate Calabim? I really, _really_ hate Impudites. I'm just saying." I can stomp along to my words, rhythm near enough to music to keep me...focused. I'm being focused.

"What happened, Kai?"

"Charmed and drained. I knew it was about to happen and the bastard _still_ got me. Oh, and the Lilim that showed up? ImpuTech glasses, so now _everyone_ knows I was holding six notes of Essence today. Luckily enough they all seem to think I'm a six-Force human, but if I show up before noon tomorrow with one Essence? That's going to be a problem. And _after_ noon, I ought to have one point more than before? Again? A problem. I am so glad that Impudites can only get in my head for a few minutes, or I'd be in even more trouble." I take a deep breath, let cold air settle down through this vessel's lungs. "Aside from _that_ , though, life is great. You?"

"I'm sorry, Kai. I didn't know--"

"Nah, it's not your fault. I'm just angry at myself for _falling_ for the Charm, even if I did push it away the second time. I hate having what I feel twisted around like that. Trying to make real friendship cheap, by tossing an approximation of it at people on a whim. And when he drained me--" I can't help the shaking now. "Damn him, I feel _used_."

The long pause is enough to make me worry. "I can find an excuse to meet him, when this is all over," says Mannie. "And find a way to hurt him."

"I appreciate the offer, but you have better things to do than run around down here taking care of problems I got myself into. You're safer where you are. You _have_ been staying there, haven't you?" With two Cherubim watching for him, surely they've been keeping him safe.

"Not, ah, entirely, no. But we've been taking appropriate security measures." A clink of mugs, Maharang bringing him coffee. I haven't had anything more caffeinated than that ice cream in days. I ask the Symphony a question, and get an answer involving caffeine. I turn right instead of continuing straight, at the next block. "And coming up with some success, even."

"Enough success that I can drop this job?" I shouldn't be pushing for that. I've been given an awful lot for a small assignment, I shouldn't be so greedy to get out of my end of the bargain.

"I'm afraid not, Kai. The conversation you recorded over lunch was helpful, though."

"Hey, well. Helpful's my middle name. Somewhere right next to _complete idiot_ , mind, but in the name!" I kick a stone out across the street. "I'm sorry, I'm getting upset over little things. I'm feeling out of my element. Apparently a few decades of downstairs service isn't so useful when you stay in the same place for all of it. Dealing with demons like this is weird."

"We'll get you out of there as soon as we can, Kai."

"I know, I know. And I'm whining, which is bad, so I'm going to hit a coffee shop, head home, and...I don't know. Figure something out."

"Go to work after noon."

"What?"

"After noon. Call in sick, or with a hangover, or come up with some excuse, and head into work after noon. You'll have one Essence at the right time of day. This does not _solve_ all the problems, but reduces the potential for one to become excessively dangerous."

"Oh. Right." This neighborhood is far too quiet, not enough insects making night noises. "I...probably should have thought of that myself."

"You're upset. Of course you'll have difficulty thinking straight. Go get yourself large quantities of caffeine, and find something fast to ride."

"Yeah." Having him on the other end of the line, even with nothing for me to say, makes me feel better. "I wish you were here, Mannie. Not that--well, not _here_ here, because it's not safe for you. But. I wish you were around."

"I do too, Kai."

"I'd better go get coffee."

"You do that."

"Don't do anything _too_ dangerous, okay? I have enough to worry about down here."

"Zif will take care of me, Kai. Don't worry." And Zif does seem awfully competent.

"Okay," I say, and hang up. Two more miles to the coffee shop. The walk will do me good.


	12. An Intermission With Judgment

Nomikos found Adala in a room of file cabinets stretching further than he could see. She looked up as he approached, and frowned. "I am busy," she said.

"So I can see. But I'd like a moment of your time," the Malakite replied. He seated himself on a bare wooden chair near a table of folders, to show that he was willing to wait.

Adala continued placing files into the correct folders. After a time, when she saw that he was not about to leave, she said, "You are the second person to come to see me since I was set to this task. Constant interruptions only delay the completion."

Nomikos reflected that two interruptions in such a great period of time did not seem constant to him, but then, he did not know the length of the task she'd been set to. "Do you ever wonder," he asked, "about how appropriate a given punishment might be?"

"Not when it comes from Judgment," said Adala, without turning away from her task. "We serve the Most Just, and thus all the sentences given by Judgment are just. Any appearance of unfairness comes from our imperfect understanding of the matter." She blinked her six eyes in sets of two, then turned her head to look at Nomikos. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I believe Dedan is responding badly to what punishment he was given, and this worries me. He is an old friend, as much as you are, and I do not like to see him so troubled."

"A punishment that can be easily dismissed is hardly punishment at all."

"Yes, but a punishment which pushes someone closer to their original sin seems to be the wrong answer to a crime."

The Seraph paused in her filing. "Perhaps it is thought that a surfeit of the sin would prove the fault that the guilty party had previously failed to see, and thus turn him away?"

"Most Holy," said Nomikos, in what might have been a sharper voice than an old friend should use to another, "Dedan is a Cherub. I do not believe that anyone wishes to teach him to stop _caring_ for others. But this appears to be what is happening, and I am _concerned_. Both as a friend and as a Servitor of Judgment. It is not that his punishment was too heavy or too light, but that it was insufficiently explained to him. Or perhaps it was explained sufficiently, but he was not listening properly, because he is _not_ taking an appropriate lesson from it."

Adala shook her head. "I cannot debate the wisdom of punishment passed down from those above us."

Nomikos let out an irritable hiss of breath. "You said one other had come to visit you. Was that Dedan, before?"

"No. Another Seraph of Judgment. He wished to speak about an angel he had found himself interrogating." Adala turned away from the Malakite. "I am _quite_ busy, here."

"So I see." Nomikos stood up, and bowed, though her back was to him. "Thank you for the time."

He walked for a time near the Grove, speaking politely to those who were impolite, until he had come to a decision. At this point he sent a reliever ahead with a message, and then returned to the waiting room he had visited frequently before.

The call to enter came sooner than he expected. Nomikos stepped into Seraph's office, and bowed. "Most Holy, thank you for the time. I will attempt to be brief."

"Then do so," said the Seraph.

Now that the moment had come to actually present his request, the Malakite found it seemed less reasonable to him than it had before. Nonetheless, he continued. "I would like to know the reason for Dedan's current assignment."

"The reason?"

"Yes. I am entirely aware of what my triad--my former triad did incorrectly, that we should be reprimanded. I wish to know why Dedan was moved to another triad without any great interval or other punishment, and what this was intended to accomplish."

The Seraph blinked, slowly. "And why would you request this information? Do you consider the different punishments as meted out to be unfair?"

"No, Most Holy. But I am concerned that this Guardian has reacted...poorly. To the punishment given to him." Nomikos stopped for a moment, for he was unhappy about what he meant to say. "I believe he may even be reacting in such a way as to be pushed closer to his original fault, rather than away from it. And so I seek reassurance that there was good reason for this, that my concerns are baseless or mistaken."

"And do you believe that the punishment decreed by Judgment would push him into heresy?"

Nomikos spread his hands. "All heresy ultimately comes as a choice from those who do it. My perception of the matter is imperfect, and biased. But I cannot leave this unreported."

"Your concerns and bias are thus noted." The Seraph turned back to papers on its desk.

Nomikos left, feeling no happier about the matter than before.

After a time he sent messages to certain people with whom he wished to speak; all replies indicated that these people were busy, and could not be interrupted except for an emergency.

Nomikos would have returned to ask that he be given some job, any job, that he might serve the Most Just as he had been created to do. But he feared they would refuse, and so he reflected, as he had been told to do.


	13. In Which Information Is Shared

Three quarters of the way through my report on the function of the devices I saw, which has not been going quickly because, let me be honest with myself, I'm worried by what Kai said, there's a knock at my door. This catches my attention; with my door open, everyone walks in when they need to see me. If it's someone from Judgment come to ask prying questions again, I hope they're willing to wait four hours so that I can finish this. I don't have time for interruptions today. And maybe if I ignore them, they'll go away.

Another, firmer rap at the door. Apparently not. I sit up, spin my chair around. "Yes?"

The lion of unhappiness himself. I let my full irritation show. "I'm busy right now. If you feel obliged to harass me, could you try to schedule your visits during my breaks? I'm sure Gariel would be happy to give you the schedule for this purpose."

"I have not come on official business," says the Cherub.

"Ah. So bothering me is a _hobby_ of yours. I'm told everyone needs hobbies, and I intend to take up a few when I have time. Right now, however, I'm busy, so I'd like to ask that you try something else to occupy your free time. I've heard that watercolors are soothing."

He pads up beside my desk. Corporeally, I'd find him intimidating; here, he's only an irritation, especially if he doesn't have the weight of Judgment behind him. "I would like to speak with you," he says.

I've already sent one reliever away with a note about not having time to speak with that Malakite. One would think that, having been separated as a triad, Kai's friends would find better things to do than poke at me. "And I would like to get this report written, so it looks like only one of us can be accommodated. Since the office is mine, I'm guessing that would be me."

"Please," he says.

I can't tell from his face what he wants; Cherubim are harder to read than Djinn, despite being more emotive. "Fine," I say. I flick the switch that closes the door to the office; they made me start taking scheduled breaks, so I installed the system on the door during the last one, to stave off boredom. Whatever he wants to say to me, I'd rather it be private."What do you want?"

I should have known better than to read it in his eyes. I'm accustomed to seeing Needs I can't fulfill, wouldn't want to if I could. Working beside demons meant a constant stream of people wanting to show me up, take credit for my work, climb a little higher at my expense. All those things are useful information, nothing more, and I never took them _personally_. When I looked at him, I'd expected to see something impersonally hostile. He doesn't like me, fine. If everyone in Heaven got along with everyone else, Kai wouldn't be able to bitch about Heavenly politics.

In Hell, acknowledging what you've read can get a nasty response; demons don't like anyone seeing inside their heads, especially when you discover a Need they didn't want to admit to. In Heaven...nobody is going to get violent, but I'd just as soon skip the emotional response. So I'll let him talk without answering the question myself. Now I'm curious about how he intends to get there; not being able to lie in Heaven makes for creative conversational loops.

The silence stretches out, and I begin to wonder if he was sent in here to apologize to me. He certainly isn't asking for anything. "I have better things to do with my time than wait for you to speak, Dedan."

"Quite right." He takes up half the floor of my office when he sits down. "I would like to ask you for a favor, Maha--Mannie."

More to the point than I'd expected. "Contact information for Kai." He blinks, and I smile slightly. "I saw what you wanted when you walked in. I was wondering how long it would take you to, ah, get to the point."

"Oh." His shoulders shift, as he realizes how close he is to being hooked. "I can offer--"

"Stop. Right there." It should only be amusing that he does stop, wait for me, and it's...not. I have worked for centuries to acquire power, and suddenly I find myself disliking it when it's offered. I do not want him waiting on my words the way he does right now. "I don't want anything in trade. You want a fair trade, go speak to someone who works for Marc. But I want to know two things. First, why can't you get this information yourself?"

"I am no longer assigned to a triad that watches that Ofanite," Dedan says. "Such information is reserved for those who have official business with it." He looks away from me. "And you would like to know why you ought to give it to me, if they will not."

"Not really. The doings of Judgment aren't my concern. I want to know why you want the information."

His teeth flash at me. "You _know_ that."

"Do I? I'll grant that I'm arrogant, but I never considered myself to be all-knowing. I'd like to see if my conclusions are correct."

He shakes his mane the way Zif flicks her ears. Must remember to look up available information on Cherub body language. "He was safe," Dedan says, "before you arrived. His Role was minor enough to escape the notice of most demons, and when he encountered them, he had resources to draw on to survive. Nothing in his duties tempted him towards heresy or sin. He had...strange beliefs, regarding his Superior, but none that would cause him undue trouble."

"And then I was there, and your perfectly safe little Ofanite was running across the country looking for Eli." I think he's overestimated how content Kai was in his previous Role, but then, Dedan wasn't there to see the way Kai watched phones when he thought no one could see.

"You put him in danger. You gave him false hope. You brought him to the attention of the Game, and then gave them reason to hurt him. Now you've sent him back to Earth to do _your_ work." I take back what I thought about not finding Dedan intimidating while in Heaven. I can feel the guilt descending on me, and why shouldn't I let it? Ever part of it deserved. "You took him away where I couldn't help him, and now they won't _let_ me help him. All because of you."

"I know why you're angry at me," I say. "And you're correct from the first to the last. I wouldn't be here, and Kai would still be in his same old Role doing what his Boss told him to, if Jack hadn't decided to call him, that night." What would I have known, if I'd passed him on the street and seen in his eyes how much he needed that one person to call?

"I've answered your questions," Dedan says.

"No. You've answered one. You still haven't told me why you want the information."

He goes so quiet I'm not sure if he's going to answer the question at all. I turn back to my desk, write three more paragraphs before he speaks up again.

"Is it wrong that I care?"

"You're a Cherub, Dedan. Caring is what you do. I try not to hold it against you, though I'll tell you that's difficult at times." I abandon the report to face him again. "Zif tells me that I ought to learn to view situations from more than one perspective. So, viewing circumstances from your perspective? I would be angry at someone who'd done what I did."

"I only wished to protect him. Is it not the duty of Judgment to keep angels free from heresy and sin?"

"Don't ask me about what Judgment's responsible for. My views on the matter are still, ah, informed by old propaganda." I print out Kai's address, phone number, and Role name on a piece of paper. "Here. Please don't do anything stupid with this. I'd rather not have more grumpy Judges sitting in my office keeping me from my work."

He takes the paper. Peers at me suspiciously. "And why would you give me this information, for nothing?"

"Because I'm a Gifter, now, and it seems to go with the job description. Because it will send you out of my office so that I can get back to work. Because I remember the way Kai ran to greet you, the first time I saw you." I shrug. "Choose the one you like the most."

"I...still do not like you," Dedan says. "But thank you."

"You're welcome," I say. "Don't you dare hurt him, or I'll have to hurt you."

He shuts the door behind him when he goes. I leave it that way. I'm never going to get this report done if people keep interrupting me.

The next time someone knocks, I'm nearly done with the report, ready to review it for omissions before sending it off to Gariel. "Come in."

Nosha enters, with Maharang fluttering along beside it. "It seems your reliever was locked out," the Elohite says, drifting over to the spare chair. "Perhaps you should install a doorbell?"

Maharang places the cup of coffee on my desk. "When I got back the door was closed," it explains, "and I didn't want to bother you, so I waited! And waited! And then I got bored and went somewhere else, but then I remembered and came back, and then I remembered I forgot the coffee, so I went and got that, and then I came back, and I waited, and then Nosha let me in. But I'm here!"

"So I see." It drops down onto my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Maharang. I didn't mean to keep you waiting outside for so long." Perhaps I ought to install some sort of reliever-flap.

"Not a problem! I'm good at the waiting!" It sits very still, presumably to demonstrate.

Nosha lounges in a way Elohim usually don't. "How's the report going?"

"Reasonably. I would be done by now, if people didn't keep interrupting me. And your end of things?"

"Not as well as I would like. Investigating any company based in Los Angeles is..." He shrugs. "Challenging. Though the business card we received a picture of did assist. Disassembling this nascent bit of technology will be difficult. I expect it will get noisy by the end."

"And I thought Technology wasn't well-suited to subtle. Never had a patch on Lightning's idea of a raid."

"There's something to be said for being able to hit hard and fast," Nosha says.

"Indeed. But I don't think you came here for idle chatter, did you?"

"Not quite." Nosha puts one arm behind its head, stretched out on the chair. "I wanted to let you know that you're doing good work. When you were first assigned to this particular department, I assumed that you would perform at sub-standard rates for an initial period of adjustment. I was wrong."

"Thank you." I run my report through a summary program to check for gaps. "And you came all the way over here just to say that?"

"Largely, yes. I enjoy working with you. I thought you ought to know that."

That's enough to make me turn and look at the Elohite. It returns a zen look I'm accustomed to seeing on Zif. "So the way that I'm irritable, arrogant, and tend to underestimate the abilities of others--"

"Doesn't bother me. I wouldn't let it affect my interactions with you or my work either way, but, no, I don't mind."

"So why are you taking the time to come and say this to me?"

"Do you want me to sound more Elohite?" It smiles at me. "According to my assessment of the situation, you would benefit from hearing such things, all the more so here when you know I must be speaking the truth, and not only making these comments to prompt some behavior on your part." It tilts a hand in the air. "I have some experience with the position you are in now. While empathy does not drive my actions, experience does provide additional points of reference."

"I would not have thought you..." I'm not sure how to finish the sentence.

"Once an Elohite of Knowledge. When Raphael died, I became unduly emotional." It can speak so calmly about such things; I can't imagine I would ever be able to stay so controlled if something happened to Jean. I can't even think about the possibility without feeling strange inside. "I was very angry for a time."

"Who did you serve, then?" The question is probably impolite.

"Saminga. If she were not alive, I didn't want anyone else to be either, you see. I was quite irrational. It took me a long time to return home."

"And yet... you did."

"I did. It was awful to return and know in full that still, she was not here. And yet it was more wonderful than ever to be here, for knowing where I had been before." It sits up straight, hands folded in its lap. "And to meet those who I had worked alongside in her service, who had remained faithful all along? That was one of the hardest things to deal with. Some of them still cannot forgive me for my betrayal of what I should have been all along. So you see, if you are arrogant or hasty, I find it no trouble to work beside you. You interact with me as well as with anyone else."

"I could hardly hold that against you--"

"Couldn't you? You had no choice in being made a demon, but I was given the gift of this nature, and chose to Fall. By many accounts, you've done better than I have."

Maharang sits very quietly on my shoulder. I wonder what it thinks of what it hears. "Why do you tell me all of this now?"

"Because, by my estimation, you'll work better with me when you feel you know me more, and you'll be less self-conscious about your position knowing that you're not the only one here in a similar situation." Nosha finally rises from the chair. "Thank you for your time. I won't keep you any longer."

"Thank you for coming here. I...appreciate it." Though I may spend some time twitching once the Elohite is gone. There's something unsettling in being reminded that Archangels can die.

Nosha nods politely to me, and leaves. It has as much work to do as I do, if not more.

"Am I?" asks Maharang, the moment that door is closed.

"Are you what?" I ask, searching back through the conversation for what it might be referring to. Nothing springs to mind.

"Your reliever. It said, quote, it seems your reliever was locked out, unquote. Am I your reliever?"

I pluck Maharang off my shoulder. Such a tiny thing, that it can sit in my two hands staring up at me. All the conversation about Falling and redemption don't seem to have made as much of an impact as that first sentence. "You don't need to belong to anyone. You have plenty of time yet to grow up and figure out what you want to be."

"But I _want_ to belong to someone. The way you belong to your Archangel. All the real angels do!"

"That's not quite the same thing."

"Still." It screws up its face in what I've come to recognize as its stubborn expression. "I _want_ to."

"So long as you want to keep delivering notes for me and fetching coffee, I'll let you. But you can leave whenever you'd like."

"Okay!" It sits on my shoulder quietly while I finish up and send off the report.

The return note from Gariel comes so quickly he can't have read the report. More break time until the next meeting; why do people insist Lightning is full of workaholics? I can seldom work for twelve hours straight without being interrupted or told to take a break. I draw up a quick design for a reliever-sized flap to install in the door of my office, send Maharang off with a list of materials to gather for the project, and head out.

My first stop is at the Tesla coils, marvelous arcing electricity crackling overhead. I could take all the break I need, standing here. But it wouldn't do to upset those who work about this room, so I move on after a few minutes.

Next, the coffee shop where the Seraph behind the counter has identified my favorite flavor and will have it ready by the time I reach the counter. Maharang will have no trouble finding me if anyone needs to send a message, and Gariel can call. The Halls of Progress give way to gravel paths through the grass. I believe I could leave the Halls from the same doorway and walk in a straight line to any Cathedral in Heaven, if I knew how to navigate this place. There may be locked doors, places where the inhabitants would be unfriendly to strangers, but I've not yet encountered a border check.

In the coffee shop, a good quarter of the room is taken up with Malakim sprawling about on couches. I get my coffee from the far end of the counter. This might be a good day to get my caffeine hit while walking somewhere else.

"Hey, Mannie!" One arm hooks around mine to drag me over straight into the group of Malakim. I nearly drop my mug. "Come sit over here."

There aren't many Bright Lilim stuck in Heaven, and I've met about half of them. "Cory, I was going to go walking--"

"No, you don't want to do that." She drags me down onto a couch. "Everyone, this is Mannie, a new Sparky. Mannie, this is...well, everyone."

I am surrounded by Malakim. Of...War, by the look of it.

"...er. Hello."

The looks I get say that they're pinging my honor, and not always coming away satisfied. Nonetheless, Cory's vouching for me seems to content them well enough that no one chooses to make an issue of what I've been doing before I got here.

They're in the middle of swapping demon-hunting stories; one Malakite, who paused when Cory brought me in, picks back up with an account of how she used a motorcycle to take out a Calabite. "The bike got so gunked up with blood and guts," explains the Malakite brightly, "it wouldn't run by the time I was done with the Calabite. So when I caught up with the Liar, I picked the bike up and hit her with it. Worked better than I expected. As weapons go a motorcycle isn't well-balanced, but there are plenty of spiky parts, and serious weight to work."

"Never hit a demon with a motorcycle," says another Malakite, over the top of a coffee drink covered in whipped cream. "Did hit a Mercurian of Judgment with a car once." She slurps up the whipped cream. "Even apologized later. Don't know why he was so huffy. You'd think I'd meant to do it."

"Did you?" asks Cory.

"Wasn't _aiming_ for him, if that's what you mean." She grins through bits of whipped cream spotting his face. "Wasn't trying very hard to _miss_ , either."

I drink my coffee quietly and wish for my phone to ring.

Half an hour later, the ring gives me an excuse to stand up and move away. "Hello?"

"Conference room, ten minutes." Gariel hangs up promptly. About time.

"I need to go," I tell Cory, backing away slowly from the group of Malakim. Try not to show any fear or make sudden movements...

"I'll walk you back," she says, with a quick farewell wave to her friends. "I wanted to talk with you anyway."

"...ah?" It's ridiculous for me to find Bright Lilim unnerving. Nonetheless, there it is.

"Okay, so you know that we try to get together once in a while, right?" Her strides are wider than mine, for all that I'm several centimeters taller.

"I'd gathered that, yes."

"Right. Well, you've seen what happens when Daane puts together the meeting. She's nice, can do some _lovely_ moves with a sword, but doesn't really know how to party, right? It's better when Lin sets things up, but still. Anyway, this time around it's my turn to work things out, and I wanted to make sure you'd be free for the time, before I start seriously planning. Do you have anything scheduled for, say, a week from now? I figure we can start noon Zulu time, set aside a few good hours for the fun."

"No, I didn't have anything planned then." And it wouldn't hurt to speak with other Bright Lilim more often.

"Great! I'll send you details once I have more worked out. It's going to be a great party. More upbeat than sitting around in a room with tea." She slaps me on the back. "And I'll make sure to bring enough Malakim for everyone."

"...wait, _what_?" I catch up with her three steps away. "Cory--"

"And if you want to bring a friend, go ahead. Plenty of time for personal stuff, so let's take the opportunity to have _real_ party, right?"

"I mean, about the Malakim--"

"Don't worry about it! Hey, you'd better get going, if that was someone important calling." She winks at me. "Or just someone _special_. Have fun."

There is nothing I can possibly say to that.

I'm the last to arrive at the conference room. Teresa passes me a folder as I sit down. I skim the data while Nosha summarizes its findings about the company in Los Angeles doing the hardware.

Nosha finishes, sits. Gariel looks to me. "The software?"

"Already problematic, and they'll have a hard time correcting for it. In theory, it ought to be feeding emotions directly into the subject's brain. If it were working as the design specs called for, this would allow them to project mild emotional responses to anyone within range--as Nosha mentioned, this would be close range, probably a headset of some sort, or a type of, ah, speakers--based on a simple set of variables." I flip to the page in the folder with my annotation of the devices Gamma and Strange recovered from the laboratory before it went up in flames. "In practice, the software isn't up to the task of correcting for the variations in brain chemistry, especially the ones that show up in individuals over a period of time. They've been getting unreliable results even when working from an extremely, ah, controlled test group. You can see where they were adding to the basic hardware for better results, but those adjustments are hardly supportable in a commercial application."

"Untenable?" Gariel asks.

"At the moment, yes. However, with a few hardware corrections, they could have eliminated half the bugs they were running into, and simplified the resolution of the remaining problems. Computer-obsessive types always _do_ focus on the software, until they can't see how much the hardware they're working on makes a difference. While the original execution was superficially clever, the person who developed that piece of equipment didn't have much depth in the design. It's full of inefficiencies and over-complicated processes that must have been adding to the flaws in their results. Give me a month and a full lab and I could have this working _properly_."

They're looking at me in a manner that indicates I've gone a little too Vapulan around the edges again. I close the folder. "...theoretically speaking." That doesn't seem to help. "My point is, if they dredge up the hardware and put someone _competent_ on the project, taking out the software development will only delay the development, not halt it. I don't know what sort of backups they had for the data from that lab; it depends on how important their, ah, Superior considered the project, and how paranoid the demon in charge was. But even if we work on the assumption that all data from that lab has been destroyed, it won't be enough."

Gariel nods, turns to the Mercurian. "Teresa?"

"Most of what I've been able to recover from the data in the marketing office shows nothing but plans for a standard ad campaign. But there was something more long-term in the works. Unfortunately, because those plans are long-term, I'm not pulling any significant details from this information." She taps her fingers on the table, an irritating little rhythm. "There's no reason to care about plans for the usual round of marketing. Whatever the long-term plan was, though, we want to know more about that."

Nosha tilts its head to the side. "Long-term, marketing... I would guess that those plans involved using the effects of these devices for some sort of advertisement purposes."

"Pop-up ads suddenly aren't so annoying if they give you a warm fuzzy feeling when they appear? It's what I would do," I say. "And nobody leaves during the commercials on TV, if every one of them makes you _feel_. Though the effect would be reduced from overuse over time. Unless they keep cranking up the power. No wonder Media's lending a hand. I expect they're planning on getting more involved once the technology is further spread."

"Computers, or television?" Teresa asks. "That would make a difference."

"Computers," I say. It only goes to prove my point that you can't trust those infernal machines. "A television set can last for decades, and people seldom buy upgrades. It would be much easier to package as an add-on for computers. Hook the early adopters, they spread the word to people who upgrade regularly, and in a year's time you can't buy a computer without that functionality built in."

"Promoting that would be difficult," Nosha says. "Would people want their emotions controlled by a device?"

"They already pay for the movies and games to keep them entertained. Push it the right way, and it's the equivalent of switching from black and white to full color, or 16 colors to 32-bit color. A way to enhance your entertainment experience. They'll be lining up at midnight to buy the games released to take advantage of the technology."

"So we need to squash this in every possible direction." Teresa presses her lips together. "Word will spread about the lab sooner than we'd like. We need to move quickly before others start going to ground."

"Agreed," says Nosha. "I will continue to investigate what we might do about the hardware construction, though attacking that directly would be difficult. In the meantime, we ought to have Kai collect as much data from the computers in the office where she works, and then withdraw from the situation before it becomes dangerous."

"The Lilim and human working on the hardware end are in town," Teresa says. "We could take out both demons before those two retun to Los Angeles, and pull the data as convenient."

"Data first, and then an attack," says Nosha. "Too many things can go wrong in an assault to count on that, and a simple hard-drive copy may save us trouble in the long run."

"I believe Nosha is correct," I say, before Teresa can push for a full-frontal assault that Kai would be caught up in. "There's too much risk of losing data we need. And what are we going to do about the human? From all I've heard, I'm not certain he's even Hellsworn."

"It depends on how closely he's tied to the hardware creation," Nosha says. "If the Lilim has done all the design, only using him for a front, we may only need to destroy his company to prevent him from pursuing any of those ideas. If he's been intimately involved in the process, or actually came up with the hardware himself, we may be forced to kill him." Teresa frowns at the Elohite. "This is, of course, a sub-optimal resolution. But we ought to be aware of the possibility."

Gariel stretches one wing out, then pulls it neatly back in. "A good plan," he says. "See to it."


	14. In Which Many Things Happen At Once, And Some Happen Sequentially

"So sometimes when someone is charming--"

"They're really charming you, right." I've managed to produce drinkable tea for the first time in years, largely because Sharon helped me. It sloshes in the mug as I pace around the living room. "And, wham, no more Essence for _you_."

"Huh. And I thought I only had to worry about the _sucky_ customers." Sharon frowns from where she's sitting on the one chair of the apartment. "Now I have to worry about the nice ones?"

"Not necessarily, no. Compared to the number of humans out there, angels and demons both are rare. It's only that we tend to run into each other a lot, for obvious reasons."

"Right. Because of, um." She snaps her fingers. "Dissonance?"

"Not quite. Disturbance. Dissonance is--"

"When a celestial does something contrary to their nature or their Superior's, um, Word. Right. You know, this would be much easier to track if you'd let me take notes."

I finish off my tea, set the mug on the desk, and drop into a handstand. "Sorry, but people are already going to be annoyed that you know about these things without a lot more vetting. If you start writing things down, the next triad that comes to see me is going to have a fit."

"It wasn't your fault I decided to follow along. I don't know what I was thinking." Sharon draws invisible pictures on the desk with one finger. "It's still hard to believe."

"Angels, demons, and an invisible war?" Walking on my hands is trickier in this vessel, but I'm getting the hang of it.

"And that I'd be involved. I'm not the sort of person who gets caught up in exciting things. I have a boring, prosaic life." She stands up; apparently the pacing is contagious. "Yesterday at work, someone threw a hamburger at me. Why? Because there were pickles on the burger, and she didn't want pickles. Had she asked to have it made without pickles? No. Was I the one who took the order? No. Did I make the burger? No. Did I offer to make her a new one without pickles? Yes. But she still threw it in my face. And what did I do? Got my manager to come to the front, where he apologized to her for the mistake, gave her a new hamburger, plus coupons for free ones next time. That's the kind of life I have. Not the kind where I end up shooting tentacled demons and then running from the police."

I flip to my feet. "It's not all action and excitement on this side, either. I spent decades as a ballet instructor, and then as an assistant instructor when I had to retire my first Role and come back as someone new. Sure, there were days when I was off tracking down a bit of nefarious activity or tangling with demons, but most of the time I was just teaching ballet. That's what my Boss sent me to Earth to do." I grin at her. "But if you really _want_ the action and excitement, I'll introduce you to someone from another Word. Wind, Sword, War... They get involved in serious smiting."

"Oh, no. Excitement from night before last was enough to keep me happy for the rest of my life. I'll help the side of, um, ultimate good, but I'd rather not go through any of that again."

"Fair enough. We'll work something out. Mind, that could turn out to be 'Just keep doing what you're doing right now, and we'll let you know if we need anything.'" There's a short, sharp knock at the door. "Huh. I wasn't expecting anyone. Usually the triads only show once a week." I pull the door open. "Dedan! It's good to see you. What's up?"

"We need to talk," he says, stepping inside. He pauses, seeing Sharon. "If you would excuse us..."

Sharon nods. "Official business, all that. I need to catch a bus in twenty minutes." And no fuss about stepping out, which comes as a relief. She's taking this much better than I'd feared. With any luck, she'll end up a Soldier of God, and I think she'll do well at it.

As soon as the door closes behind her, I dart in to hug Dedan. "I have missed you so much. Haven't seen you since, well, since I was wearing a different vessel. What have you been up to? How are Adala and Nomikos?"

He pats my shoulder, his usual response to a hug when he's concerned about something. If he were in a better mood, he'd only stand there awkwardly until I let go. "They're fine, Kai. We're not working together as a triad anymore, so I don't see them often."

"Yeah, Nomikos said you were doing different things now. What happened?" He hesitates to answer. "Oh, right. Official Judgment stuff, classified, so on and so forth. Forget I asked. But I'm glad you're here." I step away before he has to go all Judgment and pull away himself. It doesn't seem fair that they should have to be reserved, but someone needs to be proper, right? I wonder if Judgment Servitors get together in private parties and let loose, to relieve some of the stress of going poker-spine for days on end. It seems unlikely, but if they did, it's not like they'd tell anyone. "In any case, I'm glad you're here."

He pats me on the shoulder again. So very much a Judge. "How has your job been progressing?"

"So-so. I've been getting information to Lightning like I'm supposed to, some of it even _useful_ , but it's hard to do a desk job. Right now I'm trying to resist temptation like I should because the Lilim who's visiting is someone I have a personal grudge against, and that's not easy either. At least the job isn't going to last much longer. I hope."

Dedan nods, and takes a seat at my desk. "Is that all, then?"

"Um. Not quite." If he'd just move the chair out into the center of the room, I could pace around him. I settle for an arc from one side of him to the other. "Night before last, two demons got really noisy, and I ran over there to do something about it, but, well, I didn't do as well as I should have, Dedan. I screwed up. I didn't save the mortal they'd attacked, I didn't keep the apartment from being set on fire, I barely even managed to call 911. The only reason I got out of there was because Sharon followed me and shot the last demon when he was kicking my ass." I probably ought to mention Cat, but he hasn't asked, and I like the little dreamling. Judgment, for all that they're good people, does get unreasonable about ethereals on Earth.

"Sharon?"

"The human who was just here. She's great! Still kinda shook up about the whole thing, but willing to help out as she can. I'm trying to give her a basic grounding in what's going on."

"You think this is wise?"

"I didn't have much of a choice, Dedan. The demon she shot was going all Numinous Corpus on me. It was either that or try to come up with a story about alien invaders, and I'm not that great at on-the-spot lying. I can manage better when I know the steps to the dance I'm supposed to be performing."

"You did fine, Kai. These things happen. Just make sure you let the appropriate authorities know about her."

"I didn't do so fine last night, though." At least I can tell this to someone I know, instead of strangers. It's easier this way. I find myself pacing with my back to him, a bad sign. "So, you know the demon I'm being employed by at the moment is an Impudite, right?"

"I hadn't heard that."

"Yeah, well. Impudite. I've been underestimating them, I guess. Because usually they're doing subtle stuff, and I'm more used to the smack and whack approach to demons, right? So most of the time running into an Impudite, maybe one of Death aside, means it's easier to take care of than usual, once I get them alone. But. Um." I spin on one foot until I can continue. "I was over at his house to see what I could get from the paperwork there, and..." Even pacing is not making this any easier to talk about. "Bastard managed to Charm me. Standard Charm and drain, and I _liked_ it. At the time. And he." I don't know what to say here. I need a fast car, to finish this conversation.

"What happened, Kai?" The voice he would use when I was trying to explain to my triad before why I couldn't go in service to anyone else.

"Nothing...much. Not much. But." I need a way to run. These walls are too close. "I'm glad the second time he tried to Charm it didn't work, because... I don't know what would have happened. I don't know. I should have known better than to end up alone in his house in the first place, but I thought I could shake off anything he threw at me." Deep breaths, Kai. I keep my feet moving in one of the more complicated patterns I know, of those that will fit in this space. "I hate it when they mess with my head, Dedan, I really do. I can deal with violence, I know _how_ to deal with that, but I hate the stuff that gets into my head and makes me believe lies, or feel something wrong. He drained my Essence and I _liked it_." I stop in front of him, face him. I ought to face him. "Why can't I resist? I knew what was about to happen, I _tried_ to not let it happen, and still, I ended up standing there thinking he was my best friend. What am I supposed to do?"

"The best you can, Kai." He stands to give me one of his stiff, awkward hugs. It's not who I wanted to tell this to, but he's perfectly serviceable to cling to. "You do the best you can."

"I'm never sure if I'm doing the right thing these days, Dedan. I'm not smart enough to figure it out myself, and I don't know who to ask. The Boss would be able to tell me, but he's not _here_. It keeps getting harder and harder, the farther I get from where he left me." I did not mean to be holding so tightly to him, not to someone who, friend or no, works for Judgment and isn't so much into emotional displays. I wish Mannie were here. I think he'd understand.

Dedan lets me stay there until I finally take a step back, and wipe my nose. Vessels are keen, but they can get inconvenient in how well they imitate body functions that I don't need to worry about in celform. "Sorry," I say. "I'm fine, generally. I can manage. Didn't mean to sniffle all over you."

"Don't worry about it." He's going to recommend the service of another Archangel again, someone who'll give me regular assignments, or tell me to stick with Lightning a while longer. But he only says, "You're trying to do what you ought. No one could ask more of you."

I peer up at him. Why do all my friends have taller vessels than I do? I like wearing a body compact enough to get through tight spaces as needed, but I'm always staring up at people. "You don't sound very Judge-like, today. Is something up?"

"Nothing you need to worry about."

"If you say so." I step back, and do a neat pirouette in front of him. "Sorry to mope all over you. It's been one of those weeks. I'll be much better once I get back to my old job and start sorting out _that_ mess. What do you think of the new body? I was afraid a vessel from Lightning would mean I was getting something inappropriate for dancing, but of course Jean knew what he was doing. And people react a little differently to me when I'm female from when they can't figure out which gender I am. Always liked the androgynous look, but I can work with this."

"It's a suitable vessel." 

I think that's his equivalent of a compliment, so I take it as one, and dip him a bow. "So what did you come to talk about? If you have more questions, I already called in to work and said I wouldn't be there until half past noon. Plenty of time to talk."

"No," says Dedan, "no more questions. I only wanted to...see that you were safe."

"I don't know why people keep worrying about me. This job may be annoying, but it's not dangerous. I mean, the closest I got to being seriously hurt had nothing to do with the assignment. I can take care of myself, Dedan." I can't help being annoyed. "You and Mannie. Acting like I'm a reliever. I've done work down here for decades, and gotten by. Don't stress over it, okay?"

"I'll try not to." He moves to the door. "Nonetheless. Be careful."

"As careful as always."

Alone in the apartment again, walls so close I could scream, but...people care. It's nice to know that people care.

Sharon must already be off on her bus. I pace my favorite pattern through the apartment, and try to figure out what to do for the next two hours until it's time to leave for work. I could try to follow Sharon's instructions for making tea, but I'd probably get distracted halfway through and end up wiping out another pot. What do Judgment Servitors do when they get bored? Debate the conclusions of old famous trials, attend lectures, develop new forms of paperwork, party wildly in dull little conference rooms? Maybe they never get bored, or at least never run out of work to do.

A ringing phone: my savior. And just who I wanted to see, listed as the caller. "Hey, Mannie. Anything new turn up? Please tell me this job is wrapping up soon. I swear, I'd be willing to do another stint for Lightning just to get out of this place."

"In that case, you'll be happy to hear that you should be able to leave today."

"Really?" I drop the phone in the middle of handspring, grab it before hits the floor. "That's great. What's left for me to do before I can leave?"

"We need a complete copy of the demon's hard drive. It shouldn't be difficult, if you can get into the room alone for five minutes. Open the window, hook up your phone, and a Kyriotate will fly in to take over the computer. It can get all the contents of the hard drive onto your phone within minutes. After that all you need to do is find an excuse to leave, and take the phone with you. Once you're a few blocks away, call back. We can take it from there."

"Wait, I'm going to miss out on all the action, after days of playing secretary? That's so unfair. I should get to hit _someone_."

"I understand that, Kai, but this operation belongs to Lightning. We'll have it in hand."

"Come on, Mannie, we're talking about two demons I have personal reasons to dislike. I don't get to do anything creative?"

"No. Get the data, get out of the way. That's all."

"Mannie--"

"Kai, you remember what that Lilim did to Kelly, didn't you? I'd rather not have you in that situation."

The look on her face when I--no. I don't want to do that again. "Okay, fine. Open the window, Kyrio sucks the data to my phone, exit stage left, give you a call. That's it?"

"That's it. Why don't you head back to the Lighting Tether once you're done here? It's more secure to pass the phone over for a data dump than to transfer the files from another computer."

"Okay. I can ditch the car they gave me back there, and let them figure out who to fob it off on next." The circuit through the apartment isn't so dull with him on the line. "Would you mind tossing a message in the general direction of the Windies, to see if Jack would stop by some time today or tomorrow? If he's close enough to make it, but I'd be disappointed if he couldn't find a way to make it there in that time, knowing him."

"I can send on the request." The distant chipper voice of little Maharang behind him, agreeing to carry the message off towards the Groves. I have become ridiculously fond of listening to Mannie's pens scratch away at paper, over the phone. "Be careful, Kai."

I roll my eyes, even if he can't see it. "You've given me the easiest job known to man or God, told me to stay out of all the interesting bits, and now you want me to be careful? Stop _worrying_ , Mannie. I am not incompetent."

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have implied otherwise."

"Nah, it's okay. Everyone gets to be a little unreasonable about their friends. But do yourself a favor and remember I've been around a while. Besides, if anything comes up, I'll call."

"Understood. Good luck." Leaving me alone again.

Two hours having been ruthlessly killed by packing everything interesting from the apartment, I coax my dreadful little car to a parking spot three blocks away from the office. Up to the thirteenth floor by the stairs; I am not in the mood for an elevator today.

In the outer office, two of my least favorite people ever look up as I walk in. I hadn't expected they'd be out in this room. "Afternoon, sweetheart," says Candi. "Something come up? I thought I'd see you here this morning."

"Dentist's appointment." Chad's bothering to look faintly guilty. Go figure. "I hope there wasn't anything you needed from me while I was out?" I thought I could manage being back in this office with the two of them, but now I'm not sure I can. I need them out of sight, somewhere that I won't have to keep thinking about what I'm not allowed to do.

"Nothing important," Chad says. He manages to put his confident smile back on. "Or at least, nothing you need to worry about, Megs. The files you'll want to look at are on your desk. Think you can get through those by the end of the day?"

"I'll give it a shot." I don't have the control to pretend enthusiasm right now. The best I can manage is a veneer of civility. I'm going to be gone by the end of the day if I have to shove people out the window to get time alone in that office.

"We were just about to head out to lunch," Chad says. "The files can wait--"

"Oh, let's give her time to catch up," says Candi, with an unpleasantly sweet smile in my direction. She wraps one arm around Ed's. "We can get confidential business out of the way without causing any little fuss."

The Impudite hesitates. And what is he going to say, at this point? "Of course." He turns away from me. "I'm sure you can hold down the fort while we're gone, Megs. Let me know if anyone important calls."

"Sure thing, Chad."

I count to ten after the door closes, then walk into Chad's office. He hasn't even locked the door. I close that door behind me, and slide open the window to the outside. All it looks out to is a back alley and the building across that gap. No sign of a Kyrio, so I lean out the window. "Here, Domination Domination Domination..."

A pigeon swoops down to perch on the windowsill, and turns one black eye up towards me, like a tiny plastic button. "About time," I say. "How long is this going to take?"

The pigeon hops over onto the keyboard of Chad's computer. A moment later, a text window opens, and begins scrolling out words.

_Plug in the phone, you idiot._

"Oh. Right." I fish out the bit of cord from my pockets, and go searching at the back of the CPU for a place to plug it in. "You know, this sort of thing isn't what I usually do. I'm more used to, well, straightforward stuff. None of this sneaking around." I stand back up. "You know, long-term Roles."

_So I can see. Since I don't need to decrypt anything, this should only take five minutes. It would be faster if the demon ever bothered to upgrade anything. Don't Media and Technology work closely enough to get this computer some decent RAM?_

"Don't ask me. I don't do computers." I search through Chad's desk drawers for anything interesting. Nothing more personal than receipts for restaurant meals. He never did strike me as the sentimental sort. "I'm a little confused that they didn't give this job to you in the first place. You seem to know the area."

_I have better things to do with my time than play secretary to a demon._

"You and me both." I shut the last drawer, and go back to looking out the window. "It's a good thing this building is so old. You can't even open most of the windows in the new buildings. Safety glass, sheer sides, nothing that opens to the outside. The designs are pretty on the exterior, but it lacks a certain something. Too disconnected from the rest of the world."

_That's Technology for you. All glitz, no reality check in sight._

"Maybe so. I don't think it's a lost cause. You can do marvelous things with green glass. And there's room for different styles. No reason you can't have sleek shiny buildings and comfortable brick ones too."

_I don't do architecture, Wheel. I do computers. You'll have to debate the merits of high-rise design with someone else._

"Gotcha." I sit on the windowsill, put one hand one each side of the window frame, and lean back until I'm staring up at the sky. "I can understand the need for shelter. I can even get, with Theft running around, needing to keep possessions contained. And you can do lovely things with buildings. But you'd think people would want to spend more of their time seeing the rest of the world, if they could get away with it."

The computer chimes. I slide back to the ground. "Done?"

_Complete copy of the hard drive, yes. I'll have to warn people not to run it on any machine hooked up to a network; VapuTech is the only possible explanation for some of the programs on there. I can fly in with something stronger than a pigeon to take the phone._

"No, I'd rather hang onto it. I'm supposed to call when I get out of here." I drop the phone back into the pocket of my jeans. "Thanks for the help."

_You're welcome. But the next time you decide to tangle with demons like you did the other night, try to do it either more cleanly or outside of my territory, okay? That was a nightmare to clean up._

"Sorry about that..." Quite a mess for me to make without even managing to _save_ anyone.

_Eh. Be more careful, that's all I ask. Even Kyriotates can only be in so many places at once._ The text file closes itself without saving, and the pigeon, which has been nosing about through Chad's pencil holder, spreads its wings, flies away without another word.

Not that pigeons can talk. Yet another reason I'm glad I never tried to fledge Kyriotate. I considered it when I was seven Forces or so, and starting to give the matter real thought between games of tag and running errands, because that's another way to see everything in a short period of time: be lots of places at once. But having a bunch of bodies I couldn't _talk_ with would drive me nearly as crazy as standing around inside this office much longer. I slide the window shut, latch it again, and head back towards the door.

Voices outside in the office. They can't be back from lunch already, but--that was a door I heard opening, and I can make out enough voices to tell Candi and Chad are the ones talking. If Ed's with him, he's mumbling too low for me to hear. Can't make out words, but maybe they're just getting something from the outer office--

The door opens, and I'm standing here with no explanation coming to mind.

Candi stops in the doorway. "Sweetheart," she says, "what are you doing in there?"

Too late to remember not to meet her gaze. "I needed another pencil. Mine broke." Oh, that's a great one; maybe next I can try to convince them that I'll be right back if they'd let me run to the restroom for a minute. I take a few steps backward as she moves into the doorway. I could run around--no, Chad's right behind her, and Ed, with his usual befuddled air. They wouldn't get too nasty in front of a human they need, right? Unless he's Hellsworn already.

"I don't think so." She takes her time moving forward. I move backwards around the desk, towards the window. Where's a nosy Kyriotate when you need one? If it's still watching, that would be...convenient. Very convenient. "Tell me, Megan, who are you working for?"

"Um. The temp agency sent me here..."

"Sweetheart, I'm not _stupid_." The way she moves towards me, I can imagine a tiger's tail swishing behind her. Ed trails behind, not looking as confused by this as I'd like. He's still keeping his eyes on his shoes. "But if you tell us who asked you to snoop around, maybe we can work out a deal." Acid on her lips. "And if you _don't_ want to make a deal, then this gets unpleasant. We don't want that, do we?"

Speak for yourself. I keep my hands behind my back, make a few small, frantic gestures towards the window, and hope that Kyrio is watching. I could probably take on any one of them; with Chad and Candi both here, and Ed an unknown quantity, fighting all three would end with me trying to explain to Jean how I managed to lose the vessel he gave me _and_ the data I was supposed to gather. Not a conversation I want to have. Besides, Mannie might do something stupid if I end up in Trauma again. "I don't know what you're talking about, Ms. Smith."

"You're not being very cooperative, sweetheart. Why don't you take a few minutes to consider what could happen if you don't change your mind?" She motions to the two men behind her. "Ed, baby, want to demonstrate?"

Did not expect those two hands wrapped around my throat, not while I'm caught in fight-or-flight indecision. "Don't like snoops," Ed mumbles. My feet can't touch the floor, I do _not_ like being out of contact with any way to run, stupid stupid _stupid_ I should have bolted the moment the door opened before they knew what was going on, could have outrun them when I can't outfight them. And it's unfair to find myself against three demons when I expected two demons and a human. There's no way your average computer geek can hold me off the ground this easily. I can't even kick effectively from this angle.

"Candi--"

"Shut up, Chad. You already made the mistake of hiring her, so you can stay out of the way while we clean up your mess." The Lilim steps in closer. "Tell me, sweetheart, what would give to not have those hands around your cute little neck right now?"

I can't get the breath together to speak. Horribly inconvenient that vessels need air. I can get by just fine without food, sleep, water, why the need for air? Someone needs to look into the design parameters on these things. Can't pry Ed's hands loose, two demons waiting for me if I do. Right. Can't work through the problem. Will work around it. I stick a hand into my pocket, pull out a paperclip I untwisted into a nearly-straight line, and stick it into Ed's left eye.

While he's howling, pull it out, jab back into the left eye. The element of surprise is a beautiful thing when I can acquire it.

I expected a reaction. I was _hoping_ he'd drop me. Instead he shoves me back as he lets go, and--

\--okay, I can see the point in shatter-proof glass--

\--damn that's a long way down--

Twist my body around mid-air. No time to _think_ , grab, find purchase on a windowsill, don't know how far I've fallen, nasty jerk as all my weight slams down against the fingertip hold I have against rough cement. Up above someone is shouting, probably Chad. Broken glass has covered me in cuts, torn my clothes.

First things first. I scramble up onto the ledge. Yet another reason to prefer small vessels; less weight to haul around. Hands and knees on a ledge as narrow as any balance beam I've ever walked across, except most balance beams didn't have a rough wall to one side.

Up on my feet, I walk ever so carefully over to the corner, sidle around to the back of the building. They'll look down soon if they haven't already, don't want to be in direct line of sight. Here's the back of the building, overlooking an alleyway even narrower than the last. Smellier, too. I sit down very carefully on the ledge, and pull out my cell phone.

"You're out?"

"In a manner of speaking." No pigeons nearby pay attention. "You know how we thought Ed was a human?"

"...what kind of demon is he?"

"I don't know. Whichever kind can hold me up by the throat and then throw me through a window. In other words, any kind with enough Corporeal Forces. Hell, he could be a mummy for all I know."

"Unlikely, with the way Vapula and Saminga--wait. Through a _window_?"

"I didn't hit the ground, if it makes you feel any better. And I'm glad for it; not sure how tough this vessel I got is, and I'd rather not find out by hitting the pavement thirteen floors down."

"Where are you _now_?" That's actual tapping in the background; he must be concerned if he's sending email instead of notes. 

"Window ledge, a few stories down. I was hoping the Kyrio would be around, but none of the birds here are helping. What do I do now? I could take on any one of them, I think, but two would be hard, and three is right out. They might have read the disturbance of me going through that window as what you'd heard from injuring a human, but then again, they might not. I'm not sure if they know what I am or not, at this point." I lean over the edge to count the ledges below me. "Looks like I'm on, um, the fifth floor. I could do the drop without toasting the vessel if I were careful, but I'm not sure I could walk away from it. You'd think they'd have a fire escape somewhere on this building... I'll try another side."

I kinda expected he'd have interrupted by this point, though I wasn't listening too carefully, what with trying to get back to my feet without dropping the phone and all. "Mannie? A plan would be good, here."

"Right. Step by step. Do they know where you are?" His voice has gone nearly blank in how evenly he's speaking.

I glance up at the window ledges above. "I don't think _specifically_ , but it won't take them long to figure it out."

"How far away is the roof, compared to the ground?"

"Twice as far."

"Head down to the ground, the fastest safe way you can. Get some place public, preferably open-air, stay on the line, and I'll send the Kyrio looking for you. More people will be coming, but it's going to take time. Don't lose the phone."

"Got it. I'll call back when my hands aren't busy." I stuff the phone back into my pocket, and climb down the wall. Aside from leaving bloody marks on the brick and some of the window ledges, it's not hard. Hands on the ledge, kick my feet towards the wall, drop down to the next story.

The ground in this alleyway not only reeks, it squishes. I regret my choice of footwear. I am never, ever taking a job that requires me to wear sandals, not ever again. I pull out the phone again as I step over things I don't even want to identify. "On the ground. Public place?"

"And quickly." Someone talking in the background, not anyone I recognize; I can't make out the words from here. "You will want to, ah, pass off the phone to the Kyrio as soon as it finds you, Kai. I would rather stay in contact--"

"But you need the data. Don't worry. I'll be fine." Phone back in the pocket, and I get to the edge of the alley, take a look around the side. I'm not sure how sneaking around is supposed to work; the closest I usually get is waiting for a particular person to pass by, and then jumping out from behind a bush with an appropriately themed weapon. Sometimes I jump out from behind other things than bushes, but the principle remains solid,. Sneaking around to run away from people is far more confusing.

Okay, no one on this side of the building. At least I'm not stepping through ick anymore. I control the need to _run_ and walk quietly, carefully up to the corner where alley hits sidewalk. Careful look around, no one I know in sight.  
 Caution isn't really my thing. I run down to the convenience store as fast as I can, skid to a jagged stop in front of the counter. "Could I use your bathroom?"

"Oh! What happened?" The woman reaches out towards me. "You are hurt?"

"It's not so bad as it looks, I only tripped on the stairs and caught my shirt on the railing. Could I step into your bathroom to clean up? I hate walking around like this, it's so embarrassing." I'm not doing a good job of lying, not when I have to make the script up as I go, but the woman leads me into the back with concerned noises over the blood and the rips in my clothing.

Inside the bathroom I wash off as much of the blood as I can, rearrange my shirt until the tears aren't obvious. Not much I can do about the pants, but the blood's drying quickly enough that scrubbing leaves the spots passable as coffee stains. I've gotten my clothes into worse shape before making coffee.

When I step back outside, the woman is still waiting there. "You are okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you very much. I appreciate this."

"I can call the police. You can tell them--"

"No, I just tripped. Thank you." I back out of the store giving her as many reassurances as I can convincingly produce. I don't think she believes me, but she's not trying to call the police.

Up and down the block, no sign of any of those three. That should make me feel better, but instead I have the twisty feeling in my stomach like something nasty is about to happen. A sharp animal cry above me sends me twitching around. I can only assume that's the Kyriotate, because I have a hard time imagining a raptor that big prowling the city streets otherwise. On the other hand, it certainly looks big enough to rip a pigeon's head off in one go...

The bird swoops down, circles, glares at me. Proof enough. No one's watching when I toss the phone into the air. Talons close around it, and that's the data safely away.

I don't like not having a way to call people.

Shouldn't be standing around in the middle of the street, and there's no way I'm going back to _that_ car. Public places in the middle of the day, when most people are at school or work... Right. The mall. I ping the Symphony for best directions, and...okay, either the universe has decided to become ecologically conscious, or buses are better for transportation than I would have believed. But if it's faster than running, so be it. Besides, buses are public too, right?

At least I get to run to the bus stop.

The bus driver has hair long enough that it must reach his ankles when he's standing, and smiles as I charge through the door. "Nearly missed me."

"Wouldn't want that." I dig through my pockets for change to drop into the machine. "How many stops until the mall?"

"Three. You okay, miss?" He looks a little like Jack's current vessel, if not quite as tall. I can imagine the same words, in the same tone, coming from the Mercurian. "You look like you ran into a wall."

Or a window. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just took a fall on the stairs, hit a railing. It looks worse than it feels."

"It would have to." He keeps his eye on me from the mirrors as the light turns green and the bus pulls away. "You're sure you don't need to stop by the hospital? Two stops from here you can get a transfer..."

"Without insurance? I'll live. I just need to stop by the mall to pick up a new shirt and pants. I can't work in this mess all day."

"Heh. Hardly, miss. You look like you've been having a rough day."

"You don't know the half of it." I sit on the edge of the seat in the first row of the bus; the only other person riding is someone mumbling and sleeping in the back seat. "I'm just glad I'm leaving this city soon."

"You are? That's a pity. It's a nice place, once you get to know it." I wish the bus would go faster, but it would be impolite to ask the driver to step on it. "Have you been here long?"

"Not very. I'm sure if I gave the place a fair shake, it would be nice. But there are too many people I'd rather not deal with."

"Isn't that the truth. The people are what end up making or breaking any location." The bus lurches to a stop by a deserted bench. "Hope you have better luck wherever you move to next." Back in motion. It makes me want to run up there and grab the wheel myself. Faster than walking, less conspicuous than trying to run the whole way. I will be patient.

I don't do patient very well. "Two more stops?"

"That's right. In a hurry to get back to work?"

"More like a hurry to get out of these clothes. Can't stand my job. At least it's nearly over." I slide over to a different seat. "How do you like driving a bus?"

"It's not bad. The route doesn't change much, but I meet new people, see the city... Much better than sitting at a desk with a boss yelling at you."

"That what you did before this?"

"Yup. Five years processing claims for an insurance company, and then one day I'm sitting at my desk listening to my boss tell me I ought to cut my hair, and I realize, I don't need any of this. No kids to take care of, just me, so who needs all that stress for the money? Wasn't making me happy. So I quit, moved to a smaller apartment, got this job... And you know, being a bus driver? Happier than I ever was locked up in a cubicle fifty hours a week." His teeth gleam when he grins. "Maybe you should try it."

"Who, me? Nah. I like driving things _fast_. They'd kick me out after the fifth time I blew past someone waiting for the bus because I forgot to stop." I prod at a cut on my forearm that's drying into a scab. "Still, it would be better than the current job."

"I'm not the sort to go for the whole Disney 'follow your dream' thing, myself. Doesn't work so well if you pin all your hopes on that; a lot more kids out there dream of being professional basketball stars than will ever make it. But there's something to be said for not wasting your life in a place that'll never make you happy. Go out and _do_ something with your life, whether it's hard work or your dream or whatever else, make a difference, and that's something right there."

"Yeah. Most people only get one chance at it, after all."

"Most people?" He gives me a quizzical look in the mirror.

"I don't know. Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"I believe in destiny, miss." The bus huffs and puffs its way to another stop, opens the doors, closes the doors, moves on. "Not that they're necessarily incompatible."

I blink at him, but his expression is polite, friendly, nothing more. Any other day I'd start asking certain questions. Today, I'll leave wondering. "Hey, could you do me a small favor?"

"Depends on what you need, but I might be able to help."

"There's this guy who--well, he's not my _boyfriend_ , he's just really...pushy, and stuff, and I probably ought to get a restraining order or something, but I didn't want it to get _complicated_ and... Anyway, if some guy comes asking after me, could you say you never saw me? Or at least don't remember me?"

"Easy enough. For some reason, people have no trouble believing a bus driver has a poor memory." He winks at me in the mirror. "Here's the mall coming up. Have a good day, and try not to fall down any more stairs, okay?"

"You too. Thanks lots." I hit the ground running the instant the door's open, remember to toss him a wave over my shoulder. The mall's only half a block away, and it's a damn good thing Hell doesn't get Kyriotates, because the parking lot is covered in pigeons. Not many cars parked here; I might have been better off looking for a busy restaurant.

The last time I visited this place, I stuck to one floor; even I can get lost in the twists of a place like this, and trying to escape from a department store makes my head hurt. This time, I know where I'm going, so I check the mall directory, once I manage to track one down amidst all the signs covered in pictures of people with vacuous stares. I'm told some of those sorts of poses are supposed to be sexy, but I'm not seeing it. What was Lust _thinking_? You want to inspire attraction, let people smile in an engaging manner. I don't know what people see in these glares and frowns. Maybe they're too distracted by the skimpy clothing to notice these things. Or maybe I don't understand the way Lust works.

The food court is on the third floor of the mall. I get funny looks from a few people on the way; even with the blood washed off and the best I could do to make myself presentable, I have a battered look about me.

Someone's decorated the dining area with plastic trellises covered in fake ivy, and two plastic trees stand in the center. Two halves of a gate, painted up to look like antique wrought iron, stand welded open, attached to tiny wall-portions that go nowhere. An impressive amount of effort has gone into making this place look nothing whatsoever like an idyllic garden. Not that most idyllic gardens are surrounded by fast food, though I know of one where the Seneschal can barbecue a mean veggie burger.

There's no line in front of the burger place. I step up to the counter, and twitch the instant I cross under the sign hanging overhead. I wasn't expecting to feel _that_. "Hi," I say, to the bored teenager manning the counter. "Is Sharon here?"

"In the back." He points over his shoulder with one thumb. "You gonna order anything?"

"...I don't think so. Would you let her know I'm here?"

"She's on break." He picks at a bit of peeling tape on the side of the cash register, holding on credit card logos. "So. You gonna order anything?"

"No. Could you _please_ let her know I'm here?" My hands are making little motions, so I stuff them into my pockets. "It's important."

"On _break_. Can't interrupt her."

"Fine! I'll...wait. I'll wait." I step far enough back from that area to let me breathe again, and go pacing around empty tables for a few minutes. The kid at the counter continues picking at the tape, alternating this with staring blankly into space. I mean, I've heard stories about the Dairy Queen of the Damned that Jack ran into just outside of Needles, but I don't think this kid has being undead as an excuse. It's unlikely that anyone knows precisely where I am, but--

Oh. Wait. The way Candi looked at me when I needed time in the office alone, and then escorted Chad away for lunch--

I have no idea if I'm hooked. I don't know how to find out if I am or not. But if I am, they could already be tracking me. Mannie's shown me how useful the Song of Affinity is to a Lilim, and I can't imagine many would go without it if they had the choice. Double-crud. I return to the counter, suppressing the shudder at stepping into that area. "Could you _please_ tell Sharon I'm here. It's _important_."

The boy rolls his eyes. "Fine, but I'm not taking the flack if she's pissed you interrupted her break."

"Yes. The flack is all mine. _Please_ tell her I'm here."

"Whatever." He slouches off into the back. A moment later Sharon comes out, wiping her hands on her pants.

"Hey, Megan--" She stops at the counter, looks me up and down. "What _happened_?"

"Long story. No, well, short story, but complicated. I'll tell you all about it, if you have a minute."

"Sure, I have a few more minutes of break." She pokes the other employee in the shoulder. "Watch the counter. I'll be back in a few."

I lead her over to the plastic trees; there's no one in hearing distance, if we keep our voices down. "Tangle with more, um, you-know-what?" she asks.

"Yeah. Went through a window. I have a bit of a problem; I think they can track me, so I can't run somewhere safe until this blows over, like I was planning on. And I'm suffering from a certain lack of transportation; I can't outrun a _duck_ in my car, even if I go back to pick it up."

"Through a window? Damn. That must have hurt." She frowns, and rubs the back of her neck. "I'm not sure what I can do. My car's still dead in the garage, or I wouldn't be taking the bus myself. You can't just, you know, take on the guy who did this to you?"

"One of them? Sure. Three of them, one with a Song that'll screw my head over nine ways from Sunday? Not so much. If I'm lucky, they can't track me, or they're still arguing with each other over who's going to take the blame. Not so lucky, they're five minutes behind me. I was trying to hit someplace public where they couldn't try anything too messy without attracting attention, but this isn't it."

"Yeah, the mall's pretty dead after the lunch rush passes."

"Doesn't help that you're working in an Infernal Tether, as places to run go."

"I'm _what_?"

I shiver. "Felt it the minute I stepped up to the counter. Not sure to whom, though I'd guess Haagenti. Tell me, is there anyone who works there who never seems to go home?"

"Well, the manager does the opening and closing..." Sharon turns to look back at the burger place. "You're not saying--"

"Hey, I don't know. It might be brand new and unstabilized, for all I can tell. I just know that I _don't_ want to stand too close."

"A demonic link to Hell. You know, that would explain a lot."

"Maybe. I suspect it's hard to tell the difference from standard fast food work."

"Apparently retail _is_ hell."

"Possibly. Sharon, do you know of any good public places I can get to _fast_? Some place with a lot of people."

"Um." She crosses her arms. "There's a donut shop three blocks from here where a lot of cops hang out. Would that work?"

"Perfect. Think there's a pay phone near there?"

"I don't know, haven't used a pay phone since I was in junior high. Doesn't everyone have a cell phone?"

"Guess I'll find out. Thanks for the help."

"Yeah, it's...it's not like I'm doing anything spectacular." She fishes through her pockets, comes out with a grubby five dollar bill. "Do you have any cash? Because, um, I don't have much on me, but this might help--"

"Used most of the last of it on bus fare. Thanks again, and I _will_ pay you back." I'll send Jack by with a nicely-wrapped package of twenties, even.

"Yeah. Good luck." I'd turn to head out, but she puts her hand around mine. "Are you going be okay?"

"I'll be--well, I'll manage, one way or another. Trust me, I've been in worse situations than this. I'd just rather not lose this body. It's a loaner."

Sharon nods slowly. "Want help?"

"You've already helped--"

"No. Seriously. Let me come."

"Um." There's a heavyset man behind the counter, wearing a collared shirt, and he's glaring in her direction. "I don't want to get you fired."

"Why ever not? If I'm working for demons..." She grins. It reminds me very much of Jack. There are people I need to introduce her to. "Half a minute." She walks to the counter, heads into the back while the manager follows her, hunched shoulders indicating all sorts of annoyance on his part. I bounce on my toes and wait, wait, wait. She knows the area better than I do, and while I can make my way from place to place easily, it's good to have someone around. As a witness when people would prefer to meet me privately, if nothing else.

A moment later she reemerges from the back, out of her uniform shirt and carrying her backpack. The manager stomps along behind her. Sharon gives me a quick smile, and says, loudly enough for me to hear all the way over here, "Yes, I'm quitting. You know where to send the last paycheck. The job sucked anyway." The rumbling reply from the manager is too garbled at this distance for me to make it out, but I don't think he's happy.

I can't really complain about this.

She skips the last few steps to me. "I _hated_ that job. So much. I'll find a better one."

"I'll _find_ you a better one. Donut shop?"

"Let's."


	15. An Intermission With Judgment And Demons

The Cherub had not expected this. However, a lifetime of asking pointed questions of people who did not wish to answer them had, to some extent, inured him to surprises. So when he reached the door of the office, he did pause and consider his actions before proceeding.

He then proceeded to rip the door off its hinges, and stepped inside.

The door to the inner office was still open, and the three people standing there had been shouting at each other. They stopped when the door was pulled off, turned towards him. He was pleased to see that one of them had its eyes scratched out. Dedan sang up a faint green shield about himself, and was again pleased when the woman's Song stopped cold at the barrier.

He was not pleased to see the hole in the window, but he knew in his bones that the Ofanite was still alive, and so Dedan chose to focus on matters at hand.

"You shouldn't do that," he said, as the Impudite's hasty attempt at Charming him bounced away. "It's liable to annoy people." When he pounced, the Lilim and blinded one scattered for the door, leaving the Impudite to him. This did not bother him; plenty of time to track them down later. One by one, he'd take care of matters. "In this case, as I'm already annoyed, it makes little difference. But you may wish to keep it in mind for the future."

The demon could not form a coherent reply to this because of the hand around its throat.

"Now, mind," Dedan said, slamming the demon up against the wall a few times as a soothing rhythm for the conversation, "I don't believe you have much of a future. I suppose it depends on how lenient your Superior is about his minions losing vessels. Don't know what you've been up to. It's not my job. But I suspect you're about to find your current project a failure."

More strangled noises coming from the demon he was holding. Dedan used his other hand to snap its neck, and dropped the body on the floor. "Well," said the Cherub to himself, quietly, "that's more of a mess than I ought to be making. But someone will be along soon to clean up, if Lightning is up to the job."

He followed the pull of his attuned downstairs, outside, finally to a bus stop, watching the bus rattle away. No matter; he could move in that direction until a destination had been reached, and then adjust his steps accordingly.

On the ledge above him, a pigeon tilted its head in curiosity to watch him stomp off, but the Cherub had more important things to pay attention to than that.


	16. In Which Violence Is Deferred

I'm the better actor, but Sharon's better at coming up with the stories. By the time I walk into the donut shop, I've put on expression of sniffling misery. We acquire donuts, coffee for me and milk for her, then sit down close to a booth where two men in uniform talk. One of them catches sight of me, frowns, stands up. "Ma'am? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." I wipe my nose. "Thanks." Sharon offers the man a helpless shrug, the one seen world over when mortals refuse to say anything negative about partners who hurt them, and their friends have grown tired of the argument. 

"Ma'am, those cuts don't look good. You might want to get them looked at." A few more hours and they'll be barely noticeable, with the rate I heal, but right now they still look nearly as fresh as they are. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine." Sharon pats my hand, and then gestures urgently to the police officer. She stands up, moves away with him to the other side of the room. I can make out her story from the whispers: found the boyfriend was cheating on me, confronted him about the matter in front of the other girlfriend, things got heated, now need some time to get composed before I can be talked into pressing charges, she's worried one or both of them might follow me and try to continue the fight, will the police be here for a while?

The officer reassures her that they'll be here for a while, I can take my time calming down, they can even give me a ride to the station to file charges once I'm ready. Sharon sounds awkwardly concerned, the officer is professionally soothing. I'm having a hard time not giggling into my coffee.

Sharon returns to the table, pats my hand. "I don't like having my back to the door," she says softly. "Not when one of _those_ might walk in, any minute."

"Don't worry. I'm watching." Ed can't get far without eyes. Though one of the three might have the Song of Healing, which would complicate matters. "How's the donut?"

"Decent. I like the ones my mom used to make better."

We make small talk for several minutes. I get another cup of coffee. Maybe the Lightning team already hit, or Candi cut and ran rather than waiting around to find out if I had any backup. I'd start making travel plans to get back to the Lightning Tether, but I don't know how annoyed the Seneschal would be if I led a bunch of demons back there; the location isn't top-secret, or they wouldn't have let me use it, but it's not supposed to be public info. Can't sit in the donut shop under the pitying gazes of police officers forever, though.

Candi walks in, the very model of poise. I'd smile and wave, except I'm supposed to be sniffling right now. Followed by...not Chad. I was expecting him to show. Ed, looking ridiculous in her sunglasses, all his muscles tense. I can't make out his eyes through there, but from the way he walks, I think he's still blind. A slight advantage. Maybe. I poke Sharon with my foot.

She turns, and goes still. If she panics now, this is going to be a lot harder.

"How _could_ you," Sharon says, standing up. Must not giggle, though it's hard to resist, as Candi's mask frays with confusion. "Coming in here after what happened! Get out, right now, you bastard." She's addressing Ed, and his mumble-prone face doesn't know what to do with this.

"Now, let's not have any trouble, ma'am," says the police officer who was speaking with Sharon before. He steps up by her, andright in front of Ed. Who does not see him, bumps against the officer, stops. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask the both of you to leave."

"We're only here for donuts, officer. I don't know what the problem is," Candi says sweetly. She puts a hand against Ed's chest. "Baby, don't worry, I'll take care of this."

Sharon pushes ahead of the police officer. "Take care of this? Take _care_ of this? You're one to talk. I'll show _you_ take care of this--"

The second police officer steps between the Candi and Sharon. "You ought to leave now, sir. Ma'am," he says.

Candi's mask is a work of art in displaying annoyance, confusion, then serene nonchalance. "If you insist," she says, "though I don't know what all the fuss is about." She tucks an arm into Ed's. "Come on, baby, I can tell when we're not wanted." The two of them walk back outside, and I catch a glimpse of Chad's car when it pulls away.

I stand up, mumble something vague in the direction of the police, and step up to the restroom doors. Men, women... Oh, right, different center of gravity with secondary sexual characteristics attached to my chest. I step into the women's restroom, and wait for Sharon to join me.

She shuts the door behind her, and leans on it. "Is there anyone else--"

"In here? Nope. That was brilliant, Sharon. Couldn't have done it better myself. In this situation, couldn't have done it myself at all."

"I can't believe I _did_ that. God. Why did she back down? You told me about that Song, she could've hit one of the police officers with it--"

"And end up with messy, weird combat in the middle of a donut shop, with other people watching? She's not that desperate yet. There are people on both sides who get seriously unhappy when things are too conspicuous. Besides, she couldn't calculate the odds well enough to know if it was worth risking." I lean forward, grinning, and tap Sharon on the nose. "Because she didn't know what you were."

"But I'm only--"

"Mortal? Yeah. But how's she going to know that? For all she can tell, you're an annoyed twelve-Force Malakite who's going to be a few steps behind her."

"Ha! Really?"

"You can make a vessel look like anything. Some angels prefer certain types of vessels, but you don't always get much of a say in it. So...yeah. She might figure it out, but for now? It's all good."

"Good! Good. Um." She laughs, more nerves than humor to it. "I can't believe I _did_ that. Um. What do we do now?"

"I try to find a pay phone with a phonebook, look up a phone number that'll get me through to someone who has a plan, and find out what they say. There has to be a pay phone somewhere around here."

"Not necessarily." She pulls her cell phone out of her pocket. "Here. Call info."

"That...hadn't occurred to me." I take the phone, work out how to place a call, and punch in the numbers.

Two minutes and a suspicious receptionist later, I reach someone in the know who's working at the Tether. "I need a plan. When can I head back in your direction?"

"Kai? Ah, yes. The Domination did take your phone. Let me patch you through." I pace around the bathroom to rhythm of the hold music. Because it's hold music put together by Sparkies, it's good. Because it's still hold music, it gets on my nerves anyway.

The music stops. "Hello, Kai." I don't recognize this voice either, though the smooth inflections lead me to believe it's an Elohite. "What's the situation?"

Sharon's still leaning on the door, so there's no way anyone's wandered in while I wasn't looking. "For the moment, I'm safe, hiding out in a donut shop with too many cops around for the others to risk making a scene. Got the phone out to the Kyrio, and I'd head back to the Tether, but I think I may be hooked and trackable, because Candi showed up here after I waited for a bit. Either that or Ed's a Djinn, which seems unlikely, what with the through the window bit. Though possible. I mean, I did take out both his eyes. That's bound to annoy most anyone."

"I see. Did both of them show up where you are?"

"Yeah, they seem to stick pretty close." Sharon jumps as the door shakes behind her, and steps away so that a woman with a small sticky child can walk inside. The kid's maybe four years old, face and hands smeared with chocolate frosting. Cute. "Don't know if that'll keep up."

"Noted. Do you think they'll continue to follow you?"

"I don't know, they're..." Little kid peering up at me while its mother tries to wipe away at the frosting. "I don't think they're very happy with me, no, but it's hard to say what they'll do. Probably depends on where we run into each other again. I don't think they can afford to cause a scene." Sharon wanders over to the sink to wash her hands slowly, probably because it doesn't look quite so awkward in front of strangers as just standing there.

"Well. Let's see. They can find you. We can find you. But they're unlikely to show if we're about. The solution seems obvious."

"To you, I'm sure. Could you explain it to me in small words?"

"Wait, oh, about half an hour for us to get everything together. Go some place private where they'll feel comfortable attempting to confront you. Once they show up, we can take care of matters."

"And if you don't get there as quickly as they do?"

"That would complicate matters, wouldn't it? But it's unlikely. Are you concerned for your safety?"

"Nah. I'm just thinking that you shouldn't mention this idea to my boyfriend until after we're done with it." The child's mother gives me a suspicious look as the two of them walk out of the restroom, but I can't think of any way I could have put that better.

A light chuckle on the other end. "I'll keep that in mind. Do you need any more information? We ought to do this quickly, before they lose interest or courage and we lose track of them."

"Nope. Think that's it. I'll call back if anything comes up." I close the phone and hand it back to Sharon. "As plans go, I have a feeling this isn't going to be the most fun one ever. On the plus side, I don't think Candi or Ed have ready access to a chainsaw, so it's got to be better than at least _one_ plan I've followed through on before."

"Chainsaw? You're going to have to tell me that story some time."

"Sure! But another time. We need to get out of here, and, let's see, find a safe place for you to hole up while I go play bait."

"...bait? I don't like the sound of that."

"Don't worry. Worse comes to worst, I lose another vessel." Come to think of it, there are much worse things that could happen to me, but I don't think it would be productive to mention them. "You have someplace safe to go?"

"Um... Yeah. I can _walk_ to my mom's house from here, and this time of day both my sisters will be home. Anything that can get through that much firepower isn't going to be scared off by anything short of, um. I don't know what."

"You have an interesting family, Sharon."

"You don't know the half of it." We walk back out to the rest of the shop, grab more coffee. After half an hour of me twitching about in my seat, I sniffle and thank the cops, Sharon pats me on the shoulder, and I politely decline all offers to take us to the station to make a statement. But if they'd maybe give my friend and I a ride back home?

I step into Sharon's mother's house and grin. "Now comes the fun part. Will you be okay here?"

"Did I not mention the mighty arsenal?" Sharon sighs. "I'm worried that you're going to get into trouble, though. Couldn't I sneak along behind?"

"Bad idea; if they spotted you, that could get seriously messy." I stop as someone who must be Sharon's mother walks into the room.

"Sharon? Honey, what's happening? I thought you would be at work at this time of day--"

"Mom! Um. Mom, meet my friend Megan. Megan, meet my Mom." Sharon, who has been doing an exceptional job of acting under unusual circumstances, now appears at a loss.

"Pleased to meet you." I shake the woman's hand, and notice a bulge beneath her jacket. "I need to run, Sharon. Find someplace quiet to get my head together, you know?" Or possibly get my head lopped off, but that's only happened once, so I figure it's unlikely.

"Right. Um. Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll try." A quick look out the window shows that the police car's already pulled away. "I'll call you later, once things have settled down." I wave myself out the door, before either of them can object, or Sharon's mother can ask any questions about what happened to Sharon's job.

The Symphony declines to answer my question about a nice private area to look helpless in, but agrees to show me the way to the nearest bus stop. No matter; I have a place in mind, with a backup plan in case things go south. I walk along the back of the bench, and reflect that it's a sign of something wrong in this world that an Ofanite needs to take public transportation this often.


	17. In Which I Begin To Long For Violence Myself

Trying to give last-minute instructions to Maharang and scribble out flowcharts of plans for myself at the same time, I run full into a Seraph of Judgment. "Excuse me," I manage, catching myself against a wall. "I'll have to catch you later, I'm in a hurry." I sidestep to continue. There's no need to run, Nosha said, but damned if I'm going to saunter along towards the Tether, not with that Elohite's ever so clever plan which I will have to shout at it about. Later. No time right now.

"It's important," says the Mercurian, from the other side of me. "And also urgent--"

"Then you'll have to keep up with me. Maharang, did you get what I said about the backup line--"

"Got it!" The reliever salutes me, and I can only imagine it's been hanging out in the Groves again. "Anything else, boss?"

"Don't call me--no. Nothing else." I round another corner, and the Seraph's in front of me again.

"Gifter, this is _important_."

I step over a coil of Most Holy on the floor. "Then talk. I'm in a hurry."

"We were told by others that a certain member of our triad had been seen approaching this place, and knowing that you had encountered him before--"

"Dedan?" I stop at the door that isn't about to admit any unauthorized personnel. "Yes, I saw him, what about it?"

The Seraph blinks its eyes in pairs. "We wished to know what you'd spoken about."

I debate between the theoretical and unstated privacy of the request, and my desire to get down to Earth without being delayed any longer or annoying Judgment. Pragmatism, as usual, wins out. "He asked for Kai's address and phone number, I gave it to him, and now I _really_ have to go." I step into the room and close the door in their faces. Not my most polite moment, but the affairs of obsessive Cherubim aren't my matter. And isn't "obsessive Cherub" redundant anyway?

Downstairs, Zif and Strange are waiting for me, the Ofanite pacing restlessly in the Tether's garage. "Where's Joseph?"

"Not coming, this time," Zif says. "He has other responsibilities, and you ought to be in no danger. And it seemed, in our estimation, that sending along too many people might be overkill." Her arch look reminds me of the way she'll twitch one ear, when she's been amused by some phrase or event. "Not that one can overkill when addressing Vapulans, in the opinion of some."

Ezekiel strides into the garage, followed by a ten-year-old girl wearing overalls and pigtails. "Everyone ready?" he asks.

"Mm. Quite." Zif nods to the girl. "Nosha?"

The Elohite grins. "You were wondering, Mannie, how we could get there in time?" She snaps her fingers, more theatrically than I'd expect from someone of that Choir. Disturbance rattles at my ears as a dark blue sedan appears in an empty parking spot.

"Isn't that rather _big_ for a summonable artifact?" I take a seat in the back, between Zif and Nosha.

"It's a hybrid." Nosha grins even more widely up at me. "Fission/fusion. Jean would have my head if I let Windies run off with it, so it's summonable or not at all."

"Don't worry," says the Ofanite in the front seat. "I can make it to the city in twenty minutes in this car."

"Without getting ticketed?"

Strange cackles. "The police can't _catch_ this car." 

The way she slides out of the garage, up to sixty miles per hour by the time we reach a street, reminds me of Kai. "I know someone who'd kill for a car like this."

"I know several someones," Strange says, "Gamma and me included. But they're not standard issue."

"Don't Ofanim ever think of anything but trying to move faster?" Ezekiel snaps. He hasn't bothered to fasten his seatbelt, and I'm not about to tell him to.

"You do realize that's like asking if Malakim ever think of anything but slaying evil, right?" I say.

Nosha rolls her eyes. "Children. Please."

We're moving quickly, but not fast enough for my liking. Light doesn't travel as fast as I'd like to right now. I make dozens of useless notes and plans on the notebook I brought along, as if writing these down would somehow make everything turn out right.

I used to be able to plan coherently, work out resources and probabilities and the best course of action, even while running for my life. These days, the possibility of a problem arises, and I lose all ability to function. If it's a problem involving Kai. I never had to worry about anyone but me getting hurt before, in all of my scheming. To have it otherwise is...strange. Still very strange. As if in the middle of a project I suddenly discovered I was only doing half the work, and needed to coordinate with someone else on aspects of the design I hadn't known existed.

The radio crackles to life. "It's not easy matching these kinds of speeds with a pigeon. You couldn't slow at a red light once in a while?"

"We're in a hurry," says Strange. "We don't _slow down_. How's it going?"

"Oddly. I loss track of Kai around the mall, but since you have Mannie taking care of that end, I've been looking into other matters. I stopped by the office, now that the window's gone, and I'm getting confused. I thought there were still three demons that we know of running around?"

"That's the theory," says Zif. "But what does the data say?"

"Data says I walked by an extremely dead demon's body in the office, found the front door to the place ripped off its hinges, and I'm using every Force I have but the one in this radio to try to do damage control. At this rate I'm going to spend more time in the local police force than I do in birds. What happened? I didn't think we had anyone in the area but me and Kai, and she ran when they showed up."

"We don't have anyone else in this area," says Nosha, "but that doesn't mean there aren't interested parties we don't know about. We can't assume they're on our side, either." She plays with the end of one of her pigtails. "This could complicate matters. Mannie, let's get to Kai and find out what's going on."

"Right." I find the appropriate hook. It's only a matter of the Song--

Twisting out of my grasp. "Bloody hell!"

Ezekiel turns around to look at me. "What?"

"It's... it didn't work. How can it _not_ work? I have been using this Song for two _centuries_ , it doesn't just...not work." I pull at the Song again, but it's gone blurry inside my head, as if I'm trying to recall something stored in the Force that I lost. I've used this song a half dozen times since then, there's no _reason_ for it to fail. "Damn damn _damn_ what am I supposed to do now?" I'm two notes of Essence lower, it's not as if I was somehow distracted before trying.

"Sometimes these things don't work," Nosha says. "We'll figure out something else--"

"No, you're not listening. I have not failed to perform this Song correctly in centuries. Hundreds of times. It doesn't not work for no good reason! And now I can't... I can't even _see_ the damn thing in my head, it's like trying to read through a blizzard." Hooks do me no good when I can't find anyone, I kept that one for a _reason_. Water through my fingers. "I can't find him. I don't know where he is."

Nosha puts a hand on my arm. "Mannie."

"What?" I should not be snapping at people, I don't _care_ that I'm snapping at people. This was a stupid plan, it was not _my_ plan, but I thought I could handle this much of it.

"If you're really a Sparky, stop panicking and act like one."

What would Kai think if he knew I was acting like this? He'd call me an idiot, tell me to stop worrying, and then ask me to come up with a plan. Right. I take a quick breath. "We received a call after Kai had already passed off the phone. Can we call back that number? It's a start."

Zif hands me her phone. "Not a bad idea." She has the number cued up.

"And how long were you going to let me panic before you suggested that?"

"Maybe ten more seconds." She gives me her patented Jean-smile.

"I would have gone fifteen," Nosha says. "Though I thought Zif would bring it up sooner."

I wait while the phone rings on the other side. Please let it not be a pay phone...

"Megan?"

At least something is going right today. "Ah. No, not quite. A friend of hers, actually. Do you know where she is right now?"

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, I can help you with that. She's staying at my place right now. If you drop by, you can meet her here."

Kai was going to get someplace private, which an inhabited house is not--but then, I don't know how much the plan has changed on that end. "Can I speak to her, if she's there?"

"Uh, she's not _right_ here, but she'll be back in a few minutes, actually. If you want to swing by?" 

I think she's lying, but I can't tell how or why. What I would give for a Seraph and a speakerphone right now... "I can do that. What's the address?"

"245 Leon Avenue. Just knock on the front door."

"Thanks." I hang up, and frown. "245 Leon Avenue, Strange. I suppose that's some sort of a start. I have no idea what's going on. I dislike not having sufficient information to work with. How am I supposed to form any sort of working plan with this?"

"Never did a lot of field work before, did you?" asks Ezekiel, as the car does a tight U-turn in the middle of an intersection. I don't like his smirk.

"Only so far as it was necessary for experimentation or testing, and even then I usually gave the specs to someone else and waited for results. Or to hear explosions, depending on who else had been working on the project, and who had it in for the demon in charge." There was also those decades I spent building up a power base in Russia, but I'd rather not go into details about that with someone like him.

"The plan changes. The plan always changes. The only reason to start with a plan is so that everyone knows what's being changed." His smile makes me want to slap him. "You'll get used to it. Or you'll end up dead."

"How inspiring." We skid to a stop in front of a house in a residential neighborhood, dropping from somewhere above seventy miles per hour to zero in less than a second. Nosha slides out of the car, and I follow right behind. "Did you put inertial dampers into this car?"

"Well. I wasn't going to not upgrade it. Especially if I usually let an Ofanite drive." She grins up at me. "You want to handle this?"

"Yes." I walk up to the front door and rap. Time slides by around me, but I am being...practical. Ever practical.

The door opens halfway, and a middle-aged woman levels a rifle at my face. "I'd like to say right now that you're on my property. You might want to keep that in mind."

I double-check the numbers on the mailbox out front. This is the right address. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." The barrel of the rifle waves in my face. "Now, I don't want any trouble here."

"Ah. Right. I don't suppose you've seen a friend of mine? The name's Megan, I was told she'd be here."

"Mom! Mom, it's okay, it's not who I was expected." A teenage girl pushes up past the woman, looks me up and down. "Sorry about that, I was, um, I thought someone else might be coming. When you called. But you're not--Mom, it's okay, really. You can put that away."

The rifle moves out of my face. "Are you sure, honey?"

"Yes. Really. Mom. Honestly. I can handle this." The girl steps outside, and closes the door. "Sorry, when Megan left I thought, um, someone else might end up here, and when you called, well, I thought--" She stops. "Could I get a name, at least?"

"Mannie." I shake the hand she offers. Absurd civility in the middle of urgency. "Would you be Sharon?"

"Oh, you're--right." The girl frowns. "But she said you could _find_ her."

"And we thought we could, but something changed. Do you know where she's gone? It's--"

"Urgent, right. Um. No." Sharon walks to the edge of the lawn with me, past the plaster statues of various wildlife cluttering up the grass. "She didn't say before she left _where_ , only that it would be someplace out of the way, and... God. I don't know. Why can't you find her?"

"Long story." I can feel the trembling trying to start in my hands. Suppress, recall that panic will not help anyone but the other side. "No idea where that might be?"

"I've only really seen her at her apartment, the arcade, the mall..." Sharon shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I _want_ to help, but I don't know where she'd--oh. Wait. Okay, I don't know if this is actually any use--"

"Fewer excuses. More information. Please."

"Right, sorr--um. There was this empty lot, back behind a park, where she took me after, um, the night we met."

"Where?"

"I don't know an address, it was just...I mean, it's near where I live, but I don't know the street name or anything. I'm not good with directions." Do I look like that when I'm starting to panic?

"Don't worry," says Nosha, taking Sharon's hand. "You can come with us and show us how to get there. It's worth checking out."

We climb back into the car; Nosha ends up on my lap, to allow room for everyone to sit. "Aren't the cops going to stop us for seatbelt violations?" Sharon asks.

"Can't catch us," Strange says from the front, and pulls away from the curb at the sort of speed that will have Sharon's mother asking pointed questions when the girl returns.

"Oh God. That's--that was a _red_ light, wasn't it?" Sharon's clutching my arm; I wish she would hold onto the door handle, if she feels obliged to secure herself.

"You haven't gone anywhere with Kai driving, have you?" I ask.

"Once, but Megan--um, Kai didn't drive like _this_."

"Ah, yes. They gave him a substandard car, didn't they."

"Him? Oh. Um. Megan." Sharon bites her lip. "That's really messing with my head."

"Compared to sharing a car full of angels off to find another and a few demons?" Nosha chirps. She's acquired a lollipop from somewhere. If I end up with sticky green candy on my clothing, we're going to have words.

"Okay, so maybe I'm suppressing all the weirdness of this by focusing on details. What sex is she, anyway?"

"Kai's an angel," Nosha says. "Physical gender for one of us is like putting on a set of clothes. Some people have strong preferences about what they wear, some don't, but either way it's not essential to who they really are."

"So you're not really a kid."

"I'm the oldest one in the car." Nosha slurps at the lollipop. "But appearing to be a child can be useful at times, so this is the body I wear. Appearing to be an adult male or female can also be useful, but we already have those covered."

"My life. Is so _weird_." Sharon lets go of my arm. With an Elohite on my lap and people on either side, I'm strongly considering taking up claustrophobia in my free time. "Oh, wait, that street! Um. That street is where the apartment complex was where I found her fighting those demons. Don't hit--" Her hand grabs me again as Strange deftly maneuvers around a bus making a protected left turn which we're ignoring. "And the park's right behind the complex, then the empty lot is behind that."

"Empty lot? Right." Strange pulls the car into a hard right, stops so abruptly someone would be going through the windshield if it weren't for the adjustments Nosha made to the car. "Here's the part where we stop before we scare anyone off. Lot's right up ahead, you can see the fence from here."

Ezekiel steps out, tilts his head. "I don't hear anything. But it's worth a try." He strides ahead, one hand reaching inside his jacket.

Nosha slides off my lap, follows Sharon outside. "You should stay here," she says to the human, patting her hand. "In case more trouble shows up."

"I'd feel safer with the rest of you--"

"I know. But you ought to stay here."

Sharon sighs, and nods. "I get the feeling I'm going to be hearing that a lot," she says. I'm already following Ezekiel's path. No disturbance, no unusual sounds, and no tug along the path of that hook. Like trying to walk down a busy street with my eyes closed.

"Nothing here," the Malakite says, from the other side of the fence. "Dead end. Time to move on to plan C."

"Do we even have a plan C?" I could climb over and try to look more closely than he has, but I'm having a hard time imagining two demons and Kai being quiet in an empty lot full of dirt piles and tall weeds. There's a dry, cold feeling at the back of my mind. It must be the door I've put on the panic, trying to break through the lock.

Nosha scrambles up and over the chain links. "Honestly, Ezekiel, you could put some effort into the area scan." She strides into the lot, disappearing between weeds taller than her vessel.

"You see any demons? I don't see any demons. Ergo, we're wasting our time here. The entire _point_ in finding our magical vanishing Ofanite is to find the people following him. Or am I the only one who remembers that?"

Strange follows over the fence, while Zif watches the street. "Don't be such a twit, Zeke," says Strange, punching him in the arm as she goes by. "Being honorable is no excuse for being a jerk."

"I am being _focused_ , unlike everyone else around me." He throws up his hands. "Am I the only one remembering actual mission objectives? Zif?"

"Information is valuable. Currently, we're low on information. Kai has been around here, and will have more. Thus." Zif continues watching the traffic-free street.

At the back of the lot, there's a muffled yelp. Ezekiel darts over in that direction, and I can see his head and shoulders above the weeds. "Nosha?"

"Found something!" The two of them return with a child struggling between their grips, the Elohite beaming. "This? Doesn't look like an ordinary kid to me."

The child growls at me; it has sharp teeth, and slitted pupils. "Let me go, or I'll magic you away."

I sigh. "Yes, ethereals are _fascinating_ , but a little beside the point, aren't they?"

"This will only take a moment," Ezekiel says, reaching inside his jacket with a free hand.

Nosha kicks him in the ankle. "Stop that. Information, remember?"

"Right. So." Ezekiel rolls his eyes. "Look, you rotten little parasite, have you seen anything interesting around here in the last half hour or so? And don't lie to us, or we'll know."

The ethereal stands still in their grasp. "Will you let me go if I tell you?"

"Well." The Malakite eyes it. "So far as I can tell you haven't done anything dreadful of late, so if you have something really _useful_ to say, sure, we'll let you go."

"Heard something. Someone came over the fence. Then heard a noise, like, um." It scrunches up its face in thought. "Like a toy gun, not a real one. A little bang. And voices. Not long ago. Maybe ten minutes. Or less."

"And what did you see?" Nosha asks.

"Didn't see _anything_. I'm not that stupid. I hid. I don't want any trouble."

Nosha tilts her head to the side. "I don't think you're telling the truth, there."

"Hey," says Sharon, from behind me, "I know you said to wait, but--" She steps forward. "Cat?"

The little ethereal contrives to look pathetic. "You're Megan's friend. You'll make them let me go, right? She'd want you to do that. I helped her, remember?"

Ezekiel shakes his head. "Wait, Kai _knew_ this thing?"

"Yeah," says Sharon, "that's the kid who patched her up when we were--what's going on?"

"You're friends of hers?" The ethereal looks around at us. "I didn't think one small favor would be so big." It shivers between the two angels, and Nosha lets go of its arm. "I did come to look when I heard her voice. Three people and her, shot her in...the leg, I think. Couldn't see very well. They went that way." It points off towards a stretch of grimy buildings. "I think this time she owes me. Keeps bringing people over here to bother me."

"Let it go," says Zif, and Ezekiel releases the child's other arm. "Thank you, Cat," she says. "Do you know more?"

"No more than that. I hid when they went by." It shrugs. "Not my business. If you want good luck, mind the sidewalk cracks." It darts back into the bushes.

"Is this good or bad?" Sharon asks. But I'm already moving that way.


	18. In Which Violence Occurs

I planned to make it to the empty lot early and talk with Cat about backup, then wait for them there. I guess I'm not so good at planning, because they hit me about three seconds after I climbed the fence. And right now, knowing exactly where I am isn't helping me any. Especially with the flashbacks I'm getting to the last time I ended up in a windowless room with three demons around me.

"We're out of knees," Candi says. "But we could start taking off fingers. How would you like that, sweetheart?"

I would try a kick if I could stand. As it is, I sit and glare, and don't twist too much in Ed's grip, not with the third demon, as yet unnamed, pointing that gun at me. I know an artifact when I see one, and ordinary guns don't _hurt_ that much. "You can't come up with anything more original than that?"

"Doesn't everyone love the classics?" Her smile isn't as confident as she wants me to believe it is. If she had any Essence left, she'd be trying to sing my head into being more cooperative. So either everyone's out, or anyone with Essence left isn't willing to pass it to her.

"It's overdone. I mean, the first few times, sure, limb loss was distressing, but by this point? It's lost its novelty." I could slam my head back into Ed's face if I could stand up. I could do something creative with my sandals if my knees weren't broken. I could get a lot of fun in with the paperclips in my pocket if Ed weren't holding my wrists so tightly. This has not been my day. "I've heard people have come up with some creative stuff involving souffle, though. If you wanted to run out and get some, I'm willing to wait."

She backhands me. It's not impressive. Do all Lilim go easy on the Corporeal Forces? Or maybe it's the Vapulan crowd. Aside from the stabbing pains in my knees, this isn't as bad as sitting in an office trying to pretend to work. At least I get something interesting to watch. I wish the Lightning hit team would arrive, so that I can get out of here and back to real work. "We can take as long as we need," she says.

"Of course you can. I mean, it's not like you have much of a product to work on anymore, right? Not without software for it." I grin at her expression. She hadn't heard that yet, had she? I love being the bearer of bad tidings in cases like this. "All the time you need, Candi."

"We should kill her and go," says Ed, voice barely rising above a mumble. "If there's backup--"

"Then we're ready for it," says Candi sharply. "You're so _very_ fond of staying out of unpleasant situations, but see if you can manage to hold out a little longer, okay, baby? Because I for one want to know more about what's going on."

The demon at the door watches with a bland expression. I don't know what his part is in this, beyond dragging me off to somewhere with more walls for their chat, and providing firepower. I don't like that he spent a few minutes outside the room setting up I don't know what, but it's not like Lightning doesn't know how to handle a simple booby trap, right? The way he's trailing along without comment suggests he's geased into this, but for all I know he's Candi's immediate supervisor and is evaluating her response to stressful situations. I twist irritably in Ed's grasp. If only _everyone_ involved were as wimpy as Candi, I'd be doing better. Not that I'm supposed to run; I'm staying right where I am until Lightning arrives.

You'd think they could hurry a little. Time's a-wasting, and my knees are bleeding through these jeans. I hope someone back at the Tether has a spare set of clothes.

Candi sets long fingernails right beneath my chin. "Megan, sweetheart. You're being difficult."

"Well, yeah. I'm _good_ at that."

"Mm. That's not really _useful_ to us right now. Let's do something about it, okay?" She smiles up at Ed. "Want to take her eyes out?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Ed slams my head against the wall, dragging my legs across the floor in a bloody streak. "Hold still. This is going to hurt a lot."

The door slams open, and something behind me explodes, white light so bright I can't see even gray wall in front of me. I try to yank away in the distraction, but Ed's not letting go. Fine. My fingers find purchase on his watch, and in my hand it twists, _cuts_. Two arms drop me as he shrieks, and I fall on the ground, bloody watch in hand, his right thumb dropping down beside me. Satisfying, that.

Twist turn back to my feet, and then, damn, damn, forgot about the knees. I'm going to be a big lot of help right now. Still seeing spots, but at least now I can see what's going on. In front of me Candi cowers back behind Ed, the door's gone with a charred hole in the wall where doorway used to be, and a man I don't recognize steps in, dives straight for Ed with a knife that hums and glows. Gotta love LightningTech.

I may be sitting on the ground, but I'm not _helpless_. I yank Candi down by the ankle, throw myself forward on her while she's still squeaking in surprise. Her cute little purse has a long enough strap to make excellent handcuffs, though it's a pain to hold down the way she's struggling--

Another flash of white, leaving my ears ringing and new spots in my vision. The man who was on Ed crumples to the ground, half his chest missing. Oh, right, VapuTech. I like that a lot less. So that demon can shoot more than bullets with his clever little artifact. Could've done without that surprise.

Another someone I don't recognize, young woman with red hair, who dodges an ordinary bullet, grinning. "Stupid," she says, "you're too _slow_ ," and sends the demon staggering back across the room under a flash of blue lightning. Then she's on Ed, slipping around his sightless, angry swinging. "Too slow, too _slow_."

Candi whimpers beneath me. "Yeah, real prepared for backup," I say, and...I could kill her. I _want_ to kill her. But they wanted to take care of this, and want information she has. So I settle for tying the purse strap into the fanciest tight knots I know.

Mannie steps into the room, a kid beside him. When's he going to learn to stay out of the firefights? I push myself into an awkward sitting position on top of Candi. "Watch out for--"

White light, I can't _see_ , and now for the first time since they jumped me I'm afraid. Body hitting the ground next to me, my poor vision slides its way back to clarity, and Mannie's pulling himself to his feet, expression--blank. Someone else on the floor missing most of the head, I don't know _who_ , but he must, by the way he's reacting. The kid's leapt back out the doorway, and now comes charging back in, pigtails waving behind her. 

A copy of the man who went down first snaps into view, grabs his glowing knife from the floor, steps around the red-haired woman to attack Ed with all the casual disdain of a Malakite who's lost another vessel. The demon in the corner raises his weapon--

Goes down beneath the weight of Dedan's attack, while the kid shouts, "Alive, try not to kill _all_ of them." And then joins in the attack, though I'm not sure how much of it is to wrestle away that weapon, and how much is to keep the Cherub from beating the demon to a pulp.

"Mannie," I say, because he's standing there staring, even as Ed collapses in a bloody pile beside me. "Could I get a little help here?" 

"I didn't know..." He turns abruptly in my direction, shudders. "Right. Problem?" The demon in the corner is now a messy heap, while the child argues with Dedan about how to finish it off.

"Knees, Mannie. I'd kinda like to stand up again, if I can."

He nods, hums briefly, and I can stand. "Sorry. I was...distracted."

I stand up, keep one foot on Candi, wrap an arm around him. "Oh. Zif?"

"Yes." He's gone terribly blank and still, from body to eyes. Not a good sign.

The Malakite shrugs. "It's what Cherubim do." He gives me a quick look that dismisses me as superfluous to demon-killing, crouches down beside Candi. "Nosha, we have one alive." He slaps a set of cuffs on her that make the Lilim shudder. Or maybe it's just having a Malakite holding her down that does that.

"Well, in that case." The child steps away from the remaining demon, gingerly holding the artifact. "Go for it," she adds, over her shoulder, and Dedan slams the demon down one last time in a wet smack against the wall.

"Oh," says the red-haired woman. "You must be Kai. Been looking forward to meeting you down here. Wait until you see the car." 

Mannie steps away from me. Walks over to Zif's vessel. I would follow him, but... I don't know if I should. What would make me feel better isn't necessarily what he'd appreciate.

Dedan's hug is wet with blood. I can't complain. I wrap my arms around him. "Hey," I say. "You're all weird and affectionate today."

"It's only that I'm glad you're okay," he says. One hand pats my shoulder. Same Cherub as always. "Please tell me you're not going to do anything this dangerous again."

"Wasn't _that_ dangerous. Not with people coming to find me." I could wait through nearly anything, I think, knowing that someone was coming for me. He's eternally reassuring, a solid comfort beside me. "Though I didn't expect to see _you_ here."

Dedan pulls away, and coughs. Actually looks _sheepish_ , and that's the first time I've ever seen that expression on him. "I'm...not supposed to be here. Strictly speaking."

"Aw, man, you didn't go and get into trouble on my account, did you?" I poke him in the chest. "You're supposed to be Judgment! You don't _do_ getting into trouble. You report on it."

"So I am surely about to be told. And yet I can't regret it." Dedan shrugs. "I will discuss the matter with the appropriate parties. Don't concern yourself with it."

"Fine, it's Judgment stuff, none of my business. But don't do it again. Please?"

"Certainly."

I count bodies on the floor. "I don't suppose any of you ran into Chad on the way here? Haven't seen him since I left the office through the window, and we probably don't want him running free."

"I dealt with him earlier," Dedan says, drawing an approving look from the Malakite.

"You really have been getting around." I have my suspicions, but I'm not going to arguing about motivation and duty with a friend who's trying to help.

"So it seems," says the Cherub. I'd like to ask him more questions, except that I doubt he'd want to answer them. "It seems things are adequately in hand. I ought to return before the rest of my triad becomes distressed at my absence."

"A bit late for that, I'm afraid," Mannie says, returning to where I've been testing out my legs. "As we left, a certain Seraph and Mercurian were asking after you."

Dedan sighs. "It is to be expected. I'd best go." He nods to me, drops his vessel, and returns to his Heart, disturbance rattling for a moment in his wake.

A pigeon flies into the room. A moment later, a cell phone rolls out of Candi's purse, over the Malakite's knot-checking hands. "I'll get around to cleaning the mess, then," says a faint, tinny voice from the phone. "It was too much to hope that this whole operation could be _clean_ for once. Don't mind me, I'll just be dealing with the police, curious bystanders, residents of this building... At this rate I ought to get a mug at the station with my name on it."

I pull Mannie out of the room, get enough distance that the other three angels aren't in earshot. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes. No." He laughs shortly after he says this; I think it's an answer he used to give to Zif. "A few days, a week, a few weeks... She'll be back out of Trauma. And, ah, telling me to stop worrying about things I can't prevent, and asking me how I feel about what happened, and reminding me that the duty of a Cherub is to protect her attuned. I only. Ah. Didn't know I cared so much."

"Yeah," I say. "It sneaks up on you like that."

He looks down on me. "I like the new vessel."

"Really? Thanks. I prefer the androgynous look myself, but no real complaints on this one. Thanks for working out a way for me to get back to Earth."

"You can thank Nosha for that, more. It's the one that suggested the plan."

"Sure, but without you I wouldn't have come up as an option at all."

"Without me, Zif wouldn't be in Trauma. And you wouldn't have lost your original vessel. I...tire of having people hurt on my account."

I shove him in the shoulder. "Zif got hurt doing her _job_. And as for me, it was a more than fair trade. I mean, I got you out of the deal, didn't I?"

His smile is slow, and sweet. "I suppose you did."


	19. An Epilogue With Presents

Zif looks vulnerable in Trauma, in a way she never did awake. I only stop to see her briefly, and move on. If I waited there for her to wake, she'd chide me for taking what she did too personally. It was her job to protect me. If I'd moved sooner, seen what was going on, she wouldn't have had to--but that isn't a productive line of thought.

Appropriate, that her voice critiques me from inside my head when she's not there to do it herself.

Back at my office, Maharang zips in and out of the reliever flap in the door. It stops when I approach, bounces in the air in front of the flap. "I finished it! See? I finished it myself!"

"Good work, kid." There are a few places in the installation where I can see imperfections and clumsiness, but the reliever followed the plans I left for it remarkably well for a creature of little brain. I step into the office. My computer's screen blinks at me about messages waiting. They can wait a while--no, not any longer. I took enough time on Earth between the completion of my mission and returning to take care of personal matters. Back to work.

The first message is from Gariel; a meeting scheduled in an hour, to discuss the results of what we did and the information we acquired, plus any remaining cleanup. The second, a reminder from Cory about that party she's putting together, complete with an attachment to put a reminder into my calendar. I suspect she'll come to the office to drag me out if I fail to show up. The third... from Jean, requiring my presence as soon as my duties permit.

Surely I haven't screwed up _that_ badly of late. Have I?

"Maharang? I'm stepping out for a few. I ought to be back soon."

"But you just _got_ here, Mannie."

"Yes, and now I'm leaving again. Why don't you go get me a cup of coffee while I'm out? That way it'll be waiting for me when I get back."

"Oh. Okay!" It zips out through the reliever flap, even though I left the door open. An absurd, charming little creature; I'll have to find some way of grafting another Ethereal Force onto it, so that I can add "intelligent" to the list.

My Superior, Archangel of Lightning, the one who pulled me into Heaven and kept me from unraveling while he rebuilt my soul, stands in the room beneath crackling electricity overhead. He chooses to appear as an older man, craggy, professional. I choose to take a breath of electron-filled air before stepping forward towards him.

He turns towards me when I approach. I can't read anything on that face. "It is traditional," he says, "to choose a new name after redemption, to reflect the new nature. Have you found one?"

I don't believe he's called me there for only this. "Emmanuel." Kai suggested the name: God is with us. If I name myself this, perhaps it will be easier to believe. I know full well that God wasn't with me before, no matter what my old Superior used to say.

A slight nod. "Emmanuel, you have so far shown yourself to be dedicated and competent. I grant you the Bright Lilim of Lightning Choir attunement."

"Thank you." Absurdly insufficient words for what I feel. 

He knows what I feel. And that I'd want no other Superior than him. How marvelous and strange, to serve one sincerely, to know he understands that sincerity.

The way he turns isn't a dismissal, but a way of moving on. I don't know when he'll next have the time... "I, ah, do have one request. If you wish to listen."

That small nod. Answer enough.

"There's a reliever who's been doing chores for me. It took my name, and I, ah, would appreciate it if Maharang could be given another Ethereal Force. To make it a bit less...lacking. And a more competent assistant."

"You'd like a Force for this reliever. And not to replace the one you're missing?" He can't possibly be surprised, and yet he almost seems to be...not expecting that answer.

"I...hadn't considered that. But. Yes. I've gained and lost Forces before; it's still growing up." My hands want to do the explaining, so I stuff them into my pockets to maintain some pretense of poise. "I realize I haven't, ah, earned this sort of favor. But I can offer a Geas, on myself. So that you could always find me." Please let him take the offer. I don't have anything else to offer, not when he already owns every Force of my soul.

And he gives me that small smile. "An acceptable deal."

Back at the office, Maharang waits, coffee in its tiny hands. "You're back! Again!"

"That I am." I take the mug from the reliever. "I have an errand for you. Head down to the big room with the Tesla coils, and someone will tell you what to do from there."

"What will I be doing?"

"It's a surprise." I take a sip of the coffee. A new blend. I'll have to send my thanks to the Seraph who chose this one. "Go on, you don't want to keep anyone waiting."

"Oh, I like surprises!" Maharang bangs its way out through the reliever flap. I sit down at my desk, and begin to review the files Gariel sent me. I have plenty of work to do, barely enough time to do it in.

I wouldn't want it any other way.


	20. An Epilogue With The Wind

Four in the morning. This far north, the lingering summer means dawn will be here soon. There's no pale tint to the horizon yet, but I can feel the Earth spinning madly beneath me, ready to let this slice of the world face the sun again. Some day I'll race the Earth around to watch the sunrise a dozen times in a single morning. Today, I'm content to walk along the shoulder of the road, gravel crunching beneath our feet.

"You're sure they're coming?" Sharon asks, wrapping her jacket tight around her. She has a bag of essential items, not least of which is a charger for her cell phone so that she can call her mother once a day about this road trip. I don't know how long she'll choose to stay with me, but for the moment I appreciate the company.

"You can't ever be sure with the Wind, except that it'll keep changing things. But they'll probably be along." I have my own phone back, full of numbers to keep me in conversation. Nonetheless: having someone around is good.

"And if they aren't?"

"Then we hitch a ride with a stranger, or walk until something interesting shows up, or I call a friend and ask if they could send me a postal money order in the next town, and we buy some car to run off in." I tiptoe along the rumble strip, spin on the reflectors. "Don't worry."

A car with its headlights off zips past us. Screeches to a stop a few dozen yards up the road, then drives backward. It's an old station wagon, the back window broken and covered in taped-down bags.

"Hey," says Jack, "need a ride?"

"About time." I slide into the front seat, while Sharon climbs into the back beside a wild-haired teenager who grins toothily at her. "Sharon, this is Jack, and I don't know who. Jack, this is Sharon. She just quit her job and is about to run around to unknown destinations with a bunch of people she's just met."

"I like her already." Jack revs the engine. "So, where are we off to? Back home for you, somewhere else?"

"Anywhere you'd like. I can't head home yet, but I figured you wouldn't mind a few hangers-on while I wait for things to cool down over there."

"Not at all. We can use someone who wields a mean piccolo." He laughs at my glare, and climbs over. "Go on, I know you want to drive. Not that you can get _this_ old wreck going very fast. Corners real well, for what that's worth."

I make my way into the driver's seat. Good purr to the engine. "Let's see how fast this will go with someone who knows what she's doing behind the wheel."

"Why does _she_ get to drive?" asks the teenager in the back seat.

Jack leans over to me. "She's new," he says. "But she'll figure it out. Okay," he adds, turning to the back seat, "lesson number five. You _always_ let the Ofanite drive."

"Since when did Windies start passing around actual rules, Jack?" We have a nearly full tank of gas; hours to go before I need to worry about stopping.

"Kid's gotta know what the rules are so that she can know how to break them, right?"

"You have a point." I pull back onto the empty road, pedal to the floor. "And where are we going?"

"How about Russia?"

"Driving there is beyond even my abilities."

He laughs. "Then wherever you want. Find us someplace boring. That needs a little shaking up."

I ask the Symphony a question, get an answer that keeps me moving straight ahead, ever faster. Eventually I'm going to need to get back home and start putting things back together. Eventually I'll need to help Sharon figure out what she ought to be doing with her life. Eventually, the Boss will call, and let me know he's back in Heaven with great news...

But for now, it's enough to drive.


	21. An Epilogue With A Demon

As she leaves, all he can think is: it wasn't supposed to work this way.

He did not put much planning into this. Planning should not have been required. His skills focus on delicate, complex maneuvers involving hundreds of thousands of potential customers. Dealing with one person alone? For that, he can depend on talent. When the opportunity presented itself, he took it as a small personal reward. For all the hard work he's done. The setup was perfect; the execution, flawless. He has played this game a hundred times before, for need or pleasure.

It wasn't supposed to work this way.

She isn't coming back tonight.

And so he leaves the house, drives to some place with people, and spends the night working the room. Drops Essence into every few attempts, and sometimes he gets more than what he spent, sometimes he doesn't, it's noisier than he ought to be and if anyone finds out--well, if anyone finds out, he'll deal with that later. By the time he returns to the office, the bars closed, he's more or less forgotten her. 

He's not the sort who fails. Like a cat pretending it meant to do that after a fall, said one of his not-friends, but he considers it a talent for excellent recovery. He has studied economics; he understands the way people get a little too smart and forget what cats know, that a sunk cost can't be recovered. Don't throw good money after bad. And so every setback is simply...another factor to address in the road to success.

She appears finally the next day, eyes not so bright as he'd grown accustomed to. He grows accustomed to things quickly: perceive, assess, adapt. He lays plans, idle plans, he has better things to think about, but plans for how to recover from this setback.

The surprise ought to feel like betrayal. It does not. Even as events progress, he finds himself reacting slowly, strangely, and somewhere inside him he thinks, this is only fair. She was the one first betrayed.

This is nonsense. He takes; he succeeds; he executes brilliant plans. Betrayal is irrelevant, expected, nothing personal. Guilt is a foreign emotion, and it slows him, wraps around his thoughts until he stops arguing with the unwelcome presence, lets it stay.

When hands wrap around his throat, he wishes to say, this isn't fair. She already paid me back for what I did. I shouldn't have to pay twice. But the other one isn't listening.

Waking up wrapped around his Heart, he knows this a setback, but only a setback. He knows that he does his work well, can recover from this new factor, will be able to turn it into some brilliant success. It wasn't supposed to work this way, but he is adaptable, and where he cannot adapt, he will make the world change to suit him. Unfamiliar reactions to events may be explained as a flaw in his skills, a flaw he will correct.

He tells himself that he's more or less forgotten her.


End file.
